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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165940">Delivery log</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kami_del_Antro/pseuds/Kami_del_Antro'>Kami_del_Antro</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Extinction Event [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Death Stranding (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Beached Things (Death Stranding), Bridge Babies (Death Stranding), Canon-Typical Violence, DOOMS (Death Stranding), Deadman (Death Stranding) - Freeform, Death Stranding Spoilers, Die-Hardman (Death Stranding) - Freeform, Gen, Homo Demens (Death Stranding), Original Player Characters, Timefall (Death Stranding), a lot of MULEs were hurt during the writing of this fanfic, edit to add: homoerotic undertones gallore, with cameos from - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:47:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,287</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165940</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kami_del_Antro/pseuds/Kami_del_Antro</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Delivery log</p><p>Subject: The Capital Knot Incident</p><p>Porters: Naoise Porter - Bridges | Arlen - Independent Contractor</p><p>Cargo status: 0% package damage, 0% cargo damage. Delivery pending.</p><p>Warning: data corruption found. Tampering suspected. Logs might appear out of order.</p><p> ̴̲̠͕̿̑̓̏́͌̈͘͝W̸̧̛̝̤̰̰̍̄̑͆̈̈́͠e̵̢͈̦͉͔̾̐͋̌̊́̏'̷̛̮͉̮̄̒̅̕ͅļ̷̘̈́͒̓̅͗̓̂͝͠ͅḷ̵̥͛ ̸̡̢̩̣̫̺̮͔͍͓̫̫̄̌̆̉͆̐̾͐̾̌̄̏ͅm̷͙̤̗̩̫̣̠̯̲̤̺̿͑̆̀̆͐͒̔͑̎̍͘͠ē̵̩̟̠̘̖̲͔̭͕̜̘͉̰̑̈́͛̇͐̄͒̊̚͠e̵̠̪̪̱͔̘̖̿͐ͅͅt̶̨̧̝̙̱͍̙̮̥̩̯̃͑̄ ̴̠̤̝̈̄͌̊͌̆̏̅a̵̛͖̣͆̍̃̊̋͊̄͛͌̃g̵̡̛̦͑͆̽͋̑̊̇͑̈̓̒a̸̡̟̲̝̬̭̬̺̥̭͍̞̙̣̅̈́̓͂̌͂̆̓͗̃́͗ì̴͕̯͈͍̎̌n̵͔̞̰͙̫͍̺̠̞̠̬̓͐̐̀̓͝ͅ,̵͕̞͈͙̮̮̳͎̘̔̈̿͂̿̔̾͐̓̿̊͠ ̶̱̪̗̳̤̰̝͙͚͓̦̹̰̩̇̓̍̅͘o̶̦̮̘͙̫̗͎̣̼̬̳̅͑̕͜ͅñ̴̢̡̬͉̺͕̰̭͕͈͚̥̳͂̊̒͒̿̊͌͛̀ͅ ̸̨̼̫͔̘͙͇̬̈́̂̾͊͜͜t̴̡̯̲̥̺̩̬̠͉̭̖̙̲̎̆̋̐͊̚͜h̷̨̧̠͍̼͈̊͆̅̾̊̀̌̽͋̚͘͝e̸͓̠̠̫̮̞͓͕̰͕̤͛̃̂ͅ ̵̜̱̹̃͌̄̓̕Ḃ̶̜̖̥̩̲͎̮̠̞͌̃̒̐͊͌̓͊͆̽͘ȩ̵̝͈̬̅̌̇a̶̱͈̝̯͇͚͍͔͇̦͎c̶̢͓͔͒̎̌̽̇͋̏̍̓̇̈́̉͝ḩ̵̲̰̺͇̝͍̗͔̻͔͈͇̎̐͛̓̽͠ ̶͎̪̗͉̤̝͓͉̲̺͍̮̒̑̐͋̈̽͜</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Extinction Event [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2084121</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 001</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I’ve been deliberating if I should publish this or wait until I can play the game again, but alas, I like it too much. Arlen and Naoise are ocs that first saw the light as Guild Wars 2 characters, but they work well enough in this universe too. Hope yall enjoy!</p><p>Naoise belongs to Ren</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>Delivery log 001</b>
  </p>
  <p><b>Subject:</b> The Capital Knot Incident</p>
  <p><b>Porters:</b> Naoise Porter - Bridges | Arlen - Independent Contractor</p>
  <p><b>Cargo status:</b> 50% package damage, 0% cargo damage. Delivery pending.</p>
  <p>
    <em> <b>Warning: data corruption at 10%. Tampering suspected. Logs might appear out of order.</b> </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><p>Naoise groaned, slowly moving. He had a splitting headache he could only attribute to an abuse of his gifts, but to what end he couldn’t remember. He sat up straight, noticing the hard surface his back rested on, and tried to rub his temple to alleviate the pain.</p><p>Only then he realized the pain on his wrist. He made a jerky motion, unable to separate his hands, and feeling something hard, plastic binding them together.</p><p>He opened his eyes in a hurry, meeting his captor's eyes, and glaring.</p><p>"What are you-?"</p><p>"So when were you gonna tell me?"</p><p>The question left him speechless. He contemplated his companion in silence, his brow deeply furrowed, a hint of suspicion on his eyes. He had removed his grey jacket and the heavy backpack, revealing the strained, bloodshot, dark shoulders underneath a white tank top.</p><p>"Tell you what?" Naoise spat, struggling against his bindings. His partner grimaced.</p><p>"That you're a goddamn Dooms," he grumbled. Naoise held his breath, glancing around, trying to keep blonde strands of hair from obstructing the view.</p><p>The cargo was safe - albeit the timefall had rusted the boxes as well as the bike. They were hiding away in a cave, waiting for the rain to pass. But the fact Naoise couldn't remember getting there wasn't as alarming as what he did remember.</p><p>"The MULEs-..." </p><p>"Accounted for." Naoise's companion chewed on a tobacco filter, trying to get a match to light up. "Kicked their asses. The rest ran away from the timefall. The works."</p><p>A moment of silence, rudely interrupted by a low 'fuck' when the matches wouldn't light up under all that humidity. Once again Naoise tried to break himself free, to no avail.</p><p>"Arlen," he murmured, suddenly trembling. "I just-... We have orders."</p><p>"Yeah. Fuck the orders." Arlen got up, squatting in front of him, burning into his eyes with his gaze. "Are you gonna explain yourself?"</p><p>Naoise lowered his head. Arlen grimaced.</p><p>"Aight then," he grumbled, sitting back down. "We have a while until the rain stops, anyway."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 002</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Second chapter, where we learn a bit more about both these Porters and their place in the world. It’s a very tiny, very fragmented place. More secrets yet to unravel.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>Delivery log 002</b>
  </p>
  <p><b>Subject:</b> The Capital Knot Incident</p>
  <p><b>Porters:</b> Naoise Porter - Bridges | Arlen - Independent Contractor</p>
  <p><b>Cargo status:</b> 0% package damage, 0% cargo damage. Delivery pending.</p>
  <p>
    <em> <b>Warning: data corruption at 10%. Tampering suspected. Logs might appear out of order.</b> </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Arlen Porter!" Viktor Frank’s hologram called. Arlen nodded. "They said they were sending the big guns to Port Knot City, and now I see they weren’t kidding!"</p>
  <p>He didn’t reply, crossing his arms and frowning, waiting for the contract to begin. The man in the hologram snickered.</p>
  <p>"You legendary Porters are all alike, huh?" he observed. "Not to brag or anything, but we had one of the big names here a while ago. Sam Porter - the best there is."</p>
  <p>"Hm," Arlen added, barely frowning. Unlike Sam Porter, he still hadn't sold his soul to Bridges. Yet.</p>
  <p>"Anyway, the contract," the hologram said with a sigh. "After all the help Bridges has provided us, we're finally ready to give back. The assignment includes ovaries and sperm, materials brought from Lake Knot City, and chiralium - so much chiralium from that BT attack we had. Should be enough to reinforce the Strand even more."</p>
  <p>With a gesture, Viktor’s image pointed towards the conveyor belt, moving a truly impressive pile of packages. Upon Arlen's frown, the hologram chuckled.</p>
  <p>"I know, I know. It's a lot. You might wanna have that thing checked out before getting moving.”</p>
  <p>Arlen noticed that Viktor’s hologram eyed his odradek; its rusted pieces peeking from below his coat, to which he responded by taking a step back.</p>
  <p>“It’s fine like that,” he grumbled, suddenly on the defensive. He didn’t like Bridges’ people sticking their noses on his stuff. “It sees what I need it to see.”</p>
  <p>“Alright, alright. Jeez, you’re a skittish one, huh?” Viktor said, raising a brow. “Anyway, I hope you’re more of a team player, Arlen, cuz you're not the only big gun they've sent us."</p>
  <p>The elevator sound blared through the room, and Arlen turned towards the moving platform, clenching his teeth at the noise. His eyes were immediately drawn towards the bike - a Bridges-issued bike, charged and ready to go. Arlen almost salivated at the sight, before a low cough made him look beside the vehicle.</p>
  <p>The first thing he noticed was the dark, Bridges-branded hat. He frowned, going down towards a pair of blue eyes, framed by hay-colored, wiry hair. He seemed as surprised to see him there as Arlen felt, but managed to compose a polite, customer service smile.</p>
  <p>"That's Naoise Porter," the hologram introduced. "A true diamond in the rough, or so I've heard. The higher ups have him in very high esteem. We're thrilled to have him on this assignment as well."</p>
  <p>Naoise quickly strutted across the room, holding out a hand for Arlen to take. But Arlen merely contemplated it, taking a step back when Naoise got closer.</p>
  <p>"It's, uh, an honor," Naoise mumbled, slowly lowering his hand in an awkward gesture. "I trust I'll do fine if I work hard."</p>
  <p>Arlen, however, turned towards the hologram with narrow eyes. He lifted his hands up in a placating gesture.</p>
  <p>"Hey, don't look at me, this ain't my thing," he explained. "The higher ups wanted all of this ASAP. Not two trips, not delayed runs. One swift run delivering everything where it's supposed to go."</p>
  <p>Arlen grumbled once more, looking at the cargo, then at the bike, and finally, towards Naoise, who still contemplated him with a nervous expression on his juvenile face. It seemed as if the timefall hadn't even touched him. And the first thing he had to face was the mountain pass.</p>
  <p>"I'll drive," Arlen grunted. Naoise inhaled sharply, and his eyes lit up.</p>
  <p>"That's the spirit," the hologram celebrated. "That's the spirit of Bridges and president Strand."</p>
  <p>Arlen huffed. There were few things he had less interest in life than that.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 003</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Third installment, a rather short one this time aroun d. Arlen refuses to trust, Naoise refuses to say something important. And the shadow of someone else hangs over their conversation.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div>
  <p></p>
  <blockquote>
    <p>
      <b>Delivery log 003</b>
    </p>
    <p><b>Subject:</b> The Capital Knot Incident</p>
    <p><b>Porters:</b> Naoise Porter - Bridges | Arlen - Independent Contractor</p>
    <p><b>Cargo status:</b> 50% package damage, 0% cargo damage. Delivery pending.</p>
    <p>
      <em> <b>Warning: data corruption at 15%. Tampering suspected. Logs might appear out of order.</b> </em>
    </p>
  </blockquote>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I couldn't."</p>
  <p>Arlen stopped stretching his shoulder, glancing at Naoise. His eyes were still low, and the trembling was getting more noticeable.</p>
  <p>"You couldn't what?"</p>
  <p>"I couldn't tell you."</p>
  <p>Naoise raised his eyes to meet Arlen's, and the task seemed monumental. The world became fuzzy on the borders, like an old, faded picture of the time before the Death Stranding.</p>
  <p>"I'm a Bridges’ porter," he explained. "You are an independent contractor. What we tell you is on a need-to-know basis. And you needn't to know this."</p>
  <p>Arlen narrowed his eyes, threatening, distrustful. Naoise did his best to hold his gaze.</p>
  <p>"Please," he murmured. "Let me go."</p>
  <p>After a brief pause, Arlen huffed, looking towards the cave's entrance, scratching the short beard under his chin. The rain seemed endless. A curtain of death in the end of the world.</p>
  <p>"Fat chance," he grunted. Naoise's face was a mask of desperation.</p>
  <p>"Why?!" he asked, struggling once again.</p>
  <p>Arlen gave him one last, chilling glance over his shoulder.</p>
  <p>"Your kind always seems to be causing troubles." He held up a hand to his temple, tapping twice. "Always ready to pop off at the first chance."</p>
  <p>He shaped his hand like a finger gun, still pointing at his temple.</p>
  <p>"I, for once, ain't forgetting that."</p>
  <p>He shot his imaginary weapon, tilting his head to the side of the blast. But Naoise noticed how he held the dog tags hanging from his neck with such strength his knuckles paled under his dark skin.</p>
  <p>
    <b>d̶̨̤̱͂̍͗̄ò̶̜̱̻͍̃͋̅͊ ̷̧̹̯̟̬̏͋̓͋̇̆̋̕͜ỷ̴̡̢͕̣̼̦̥̤́͑̕͝o̶͚̹͂͋͆͝ư̷̧̩̪̣̖̤̜͖̬̈́ ̵̺͙̺̐͒̌͊̒͂m̵̱̱̲̘̪̝̫̪̘̔͊̅i̵̛͚̝̻̝̩̩̰͚̿̈̌s̴̱͙̗͈͓̀s̴̳̠̘͎̏͆̃́̃ ̸͍͑̆m̴̼̹̹̫̋͒̍̿̇̆e̶̛̲̹̲̋̈̏̊͆̚̕͠,̷̡̭͇̗̤̻̙̏̐́̃́̔͐̄ ̶̡̮̝͎̆͋̓̐̓͝d̷̨̢̺̟̗͖͐̑͐̚͝a̸͖̜̭͔͔̐̑̓́͋͘r̵̝̹̈́̄̓̊̌̄͘͝ľ̵̨͇̺̹̼͋̅͘i̷͚͚͙̍̊̂̆̎ň̴͇̭g̶͔̻̝̊͒̃͑̈́̇̔̅?̴͔͖̫̩̣̳͘</b>
  </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. 004</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Fourth installment - a bit longer now. Back at the start, we get a bit more about Arlen’s view of the end of the world.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>Delivery log 004</b>
  </p>
  <p><b>Subject:</b> The Capital Knot Incident</p>
  <p><b>Porters:</b> Naoise Porter - Bridges | Arlen - Independent Contractor</p>
  <p><b>Cargo status:</b> 1% package damage, 0% cargo damage. Delivery pending.</p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <b>Warning: data corruption at 15%. Tampering suspected. Logs might appear out of order.</b>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Arlen softly grunted at the weight on his back, despite it being surprisingly bearable compared with other assignments. Naoise, the kid, huffed as well, but adjusted his weight and stood straight beside him. A fraction of the cargo was on the bike, a half of what was left was on Naoise, and the other half was on Arlen. A good deal. Even if Arlen felt the extra weight of sleep deprivation and physical exhaustion.</p>
  <p>"Wow, you truly <em> are </em> a legend!" Frank exclaimed. "Just arrived, and back on the road again. Can't say I envy you!"</p>
  <p>Arlen gave him a cold stare, but didn’t answer. Naoise seemed to be trying to speak up, maneuvering around his travel companion and his cargo with nervous disposition.</p>
  <p>"I trust you know how to drive one of these?" Naoise wondered, skeptical. Frank's hologram chuckled, as Arlen stared him down for a brief moment.</p>
  <p>Without a word, he walked towards the vehicle, climbing up and turning it on with his eyes fixed on the kid's. The motor roared as the motorcycle became alive under Arlen as he made it accelerate, eager to hit the road.</p>
  <p>"I do.”</p>
  <p>Once his partner climbed up behind him, the springs creaked under their combined weight, but the vehicle, just repaired, seemed far from buckling down.</p>
  <p>“Alright then,” Frank said, nodding towards them. “Good luck! And Naoise: you make Bridges proud.”</p>
  <p>The kid nodded as the hologram vanished, and Arlen accelerated up the ramp without a glance backwards.</p>
  <p>The cold wind greeted them from across the lake, speaking of the faraway lands Arlen knew so well, and tried so hard to forget. They flew as spectres across the empty docks, where cranes rusted and waited in vain for ships that might never come. The chiral barrier opened up for them, and Arlen felt a sudden rush of freedom when they left Bridges territory behind.</p>
  <p>Despite the newfound connection, the road still ended rather abruptly, and Arlen could feel Naoise’s muffled grunt once the motorcycle hit the rocky, unstable path up the cliff. Menacing clouds gathered above, but the absence of a rainbow made Arlen sigh in relief. Clenching his fists around the handle, he accelerated, beginning the ascent without stopping to think about it.</p>
  <p>Soon, the friendly grass and plain terrain turned to hostile rocks and sudden drops. Instead of climbing in a straight line, Arlen stopped and made a sharp turn, raising the front wheels from the ground and forcing the vehicle to adopt a new path through the rocks. Naoise murmured a curse, holding onto Arlen’s backpack.</p>
  <p>“Hold on,” Arlen said. “I don’t wanna lose cargo.”</p>
  <p>Naoise inhaled sharply, but didn’t reply. Instead, he kept on holding, facing the way up, eyes fixed at the end of the climb.</p>
  <p>With sharp dexterity, Arlen weaved their way up, taming the untouched face of the mountain by marking the road with his footprints. Tortuous, slow, dangerous, but with the natural, effortless beauty of a terra nullius, unmarked on most maps, hidden to those without the resolve to crawl their way up with tooth and nail. Thighs firmly pressed around the motorcycle, breathing slow, steady, trying to evaluate the atmosphere, the smell of the wind, the vividness of the colors around them. He called it a form of survival. Perhaps, in another, different time, it could’ve been called an appreciation for beauty.</p>
  <p>The only dissonant element was Naoise’s low grunts, his gasp each time they jumped above a rock towards the unknown, his hands holding onto him as if Arlen was his lifeline, connecting him with the world of the living. Sometimes, in the middle of nowhere, where only BTs roamed endlessly, where not even MULEs dared go, he could make believe he was truly alone - the only being left in the world. But the vast quietness was suddenly interrupted by an uneven breathing; a scared hand, reaching; the crunch of teeth grinding. And he remembered he wasn’t alone after all - that behind the holograms there were other humans. That the packages he carried arrived at someone’s hands. Someone’s physical, real hands.</p>
  <p>He wasn’t sure he liked that.</p>
  <p>As suddenly as they had appeared, the hostile rocks and sudden turns vanished. Naoise peeked over Arlen’s shoulder, questioning as he stopped the motorcycle. Without a word, Arlen pointed at the city they had left behind with his chin, turning off the vehicle and turning to see as well. After a brief moment of hesitation, Naoise turned too.</p>
  <p>Bright light filtered down from the clouds, and once the electrical motor turned off, wind sang its primordial song. The lake might as well have been the sea - endless waves rolled across its grey surface, carried by the will of the wind and another, stronger power that be. The world seemed new, untampered with. As if Arlen and Naoise were the first people to ever walk across its immaculate surface. As if the Death Stranding had never happened.</p>
  <p>Sometimes, just sometimes, the world was beautiful. In its immensity. In its wild nature.</p>
  <p>A series of beeps made Arlen perk up, as both his and Naoise’s hoodies propped up to cover them from the incipient rain. A light drizzle - merely a couple of drops that caught the rays of the sun on their way down.</p>
  <p>“We gotta get going,” Arlen grumbled, starting the engine up again. Naoise didn’t reply.</p>
  <p>The bike sprayed mud as it accelerated towards the rocky path ahead, and both Porters left behind a brief spark of hope.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. 005</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>back at it again at the cave. Naoise has a problem. Arlen makes a choice. They’re in a cave, anyway, and under the timefall. The only thing to do is talk.</p>
<p>I commissioned fanart of this bc I have amazing talented friends. When I have it I’ll link it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>Delivery log 005</b>
  </p>
  <p><b>Subject:</b> The Capital Knot Incident</p>
  <p><b>Porters:</b> Naoise Porter - Bridges | Arlen - Independent Contractor</p>
  <p><b>Cargo status:</b> 50% package damage, 0% cargo damage. Delivery pending.</p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <b>Warning: data corruption at 10%. Tampering suspected. Logs might appear out of order.</b>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Arlen,” Naoise called, barely concealed urgency in his voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arlen kept on contemplating the rain, Naoise’s voice barely registering to him. Naoise tried to move, but his bindings made it extremely hard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Arlen, please,” he called once again. Finally, Arlen glanced at him over his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need-” a cough cut him. He was trying to remain cold and professional, like his new companion. But it was hard. “Could you fetch me one of my cryptobiotes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A moment of confused silence followed his request. Arlen frowned, and turned to face him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Why."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Naoise closed his eyes for a second, nauseous. The world seemed unstable, faded on the edges of his vision, like an old, printed picture, prey to decay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"My blood is dropping," he murmured; a bitter confession. Arlen blinked at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The Timefall?" he questioned, suspiciously. Naoise grunted, trying to sit up straight, trying to meet his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"My Dooms- what I do," he explained, voice weak. "They consume me. They take a toll. I'm… If I exert myself, I might…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He trailed off, biting his lip, cowering. He felt so small - helpless in the middle of the storm. The sudden urge to cry was not a reaction to the chiral spikes, but rather the dark certainty of his own mortality.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I don't want to die</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought, he pleaded, desperate as a single tear rolled down his cheek. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don't want to become one of them.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had clawed his way out of death before. He was sure, when he accepted his job at last, that he would continue to escape it. But now, tied up inside a cave, he was met for the first time with the real possibility of an undignified end. Alone, and crying. Not a bang, but a whimper. The failure of all his life's purposes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rain trickled down the rocky landscape outside. Naoise finally looked up, serious once again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't do it for me," he said, a slight, hidden tremble still on his voice. "Do it for yourself, and our duty. If I die, you'll have to incinerate me before I go necro. Neither you, me, or Bridges wants that."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arlen seemed puzzled, tilting his head to the side, raising a brow at him. Naoise grimaced.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you hear me?" he spat, struggling against his bindings. "I'm gonna die!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sudden move made him slip from his sitting position, falling sideways to the ground. The impact rattled on his head, and he felt like puking. Fruitlessly he gagged, drained and scared, contemplating the floor with misty eyes. He felt pathetic. Unable to make one little stand for himself at the end of his time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sound of boots made him glance up, where Arlen contemplated him with the same, puzzled face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The thing you do," he said. Naoise didn't move. "How does it work?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another moment of silence let sink in the fact that Arlen was curious about him, rather than apathetic. Naoise threw him a frown.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The thing I do?" he repeated. Arlen grunted, approvingly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You know." He gestured with his hands, opening and closing at intervals, like a broken odradek, or a bad pantomime of a party mague making sparks appear out of thin air. "That."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took another moment for the concept to land. Naoise blinked, still on the floor, unable to move.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"My Dooms," he mumbled. Arlen nodded enthusiastically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Only then Naoise realized that, for people without Dooms, the reality of his gift might be confusing, of fascinating, or terrifying. But so many things were all three in such times, it was hard to remember. He tried to sit up, but his lack of strength and his binded hands impeded it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"If you give me a cryptobiote," he mumbled, cheek still against the floor. "I'll tell you all about it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arlen narrowed his eyes, and for a second, Naoise feared he wouldn't help him. But suddenly he felt warmth through his clothes, and glanced up to meet Arlen's collarbone almost touching the tip of his nose, dog tags dangling in front of him. His travel companion's arms were so strong, he lifted Naoise up as If he was a particularly unimpressive bundle of cargo, letting him once again sit up against the wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sudden, human contact left him paralized, and a bit flustered. But Arlen suddenly jumped back, as if the contact burned him. Naoise glanced up at him, seeing him shudder. He had heard of such a condition - chronic aversion to human touch, common in those who spent too much time around BTs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Aight," Arlen grunted. "Where are those little shits."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"In my equipment bag," Naoise murmured, glancing down at the pouch over his hip. "If you let me go, I'll…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once again, Arlen came closer, his thick, kinky hair almost brushing Naoise's cheek. He had a side shave, Naoise noted, and his eyes were big and bright, despite being so unexpressive. As soon as he opened the zipper, a couple of cryptobiotes flew out, and he caught them with a grimace of disgust before offering him one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Open wide," he grumbled, avoiding Naoise's eyes once he noticed his scrutiny.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He obeyed, feeling the viscous, fleshy texture against his lips before chewing down. With a sigh of relief, Naoise closed his eyes, feeling the nausea and the headache slowly die down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I need another one," he murmured. Arlen obliged, and Naoise bit with more abandon than before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After swallowing both bugs, Naoise let out a tiny smile of contempt. Once he opened his eyes, however, he noticed Arlen's transparent disgust. He couldn't help but chuckle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That's better," he said. "Alright. What did you want to know?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arlen stood up, taking a few steps back before dropping to the ground, sitting with his legs crossed. Tilting his head once more, he seemed to analyze every detail on Naoise's body. He seemed to have a lot of questions after all.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. 006</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>Delivery log 006</b>
  </p>
  <p><b>Subject:</b> The Capital Knot Incident</p>
  <p><b>Porters:</b> Naoise Porter - Bridges | Arlen - Independent Contractor</p>
  <p><b>Cargo status:</b> 1% package damage, 0% cargo damage. Delivery pending.</p>
  <p>
    <em> <b>Warning: data corruption at 3̸̢͍̗͍̙͑0̵̧̛͍̥̾͊̓%̸̣͖̑. Tampering suspected. l̴̢̈́̌ö̵̧͓͖̼̋͊̓͠g̵̲͙̩̲̟͒̄̆͠s̶͚̞͋̋ ̴͔͊̌͋̚̕m̵̘̒̓í̴̭̥̣̥̏̾̕͝g̶̫͓͕̼̼͖̃͛ḧ̸̡͙̥̲t̴̞͓̰͎͓͂͌̆͜ ̶̛̯͖̠͖͗̃̾̓ą̸̲̣̘͂͂́p̴̧̝̳̭̫̆͌̾̌̐p̸̧͚̰̋́̊͒͆é̶̮͎̦̤͓͔̿͝à̴̯͎̬̈̿r̷̢̪̠̼͙̾̋̉̕ ̴̞͓̲̺̣̀̑̄o̵̺̠̬͑͆̅̉u̴̩͖̬̦̬̇͂̔̊̇t̵̙̄͊̍͆̕͝ͅ ̸̨͚̻͐̎̇o̶̹̪̟̣̗̊f̴͓͑̿̒̊͊͊ ̴̻̲͎̦͎͕̂͋̒̾̀ǫ̷̨͚̝̗̇̎r̸̗͇̤̳̠̓̅͜͠d̴̹̤͕͖̘̝̾̽̈̋e̶͇̞̭̺̱̋r̵̠̈͆͗̀͠.̶͕̞͚̖̆͂̑̏̆̚ </b> </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><p>The mud, enriched with chiralium, made the wheels slide each time Arlen steered the handle to avoid the grasping hands formations, but he managed to keep the machine on track as they flew through the mountain pass. Monitoring the skies, Arlen nodded to himself as they reached the summit, surveying the way down, planning a route.</p><p>He heard Naoise going “huh” behind him, so he glanced at the kid over his shoulder. He was checking on his Bridges bracelet, frowning.</p><p>“That’s weird,” he murmured. Upon catching Arlen staring, he proceeded to explain. “The chiral network is up here. I can survey the terrain and routes other Porters have taken, and the warnings they issue for any kind of danger. And I…”</p><p>He shuddered and glanced around, startled, and then confused as he couldn’t find whatever he was looking for. He turned back towards Arlen, blinking as he tried to resume his train of thought.</p><p>“Sorry, as I was saying,” he mumbled, flashing a nervous smile. “The warnings state that this is BT territory, but there’s no BTs here. Weird, huh? The Bridges network never failed me before.”</p><p>Briefly, Arlen glanced around as well, and a shadow passed over his face. The light drizzle hit the bike in a trickle, but there was no inverted rainbow. No shadows clawing for their life.</p><p>He had a hunch. But he wouldn't be the one to explain. Perhaps it was luck, anyway. Perhaps he was being paranoid.</p><p>"Don't worry about BTs," he grumbled. Naoise shot him a meaningful glance, but Arlen resorted to point at the road ahead. "This is MULEs territory."</p><p>"Ah," he said, checking on his bracelet again. "Yes, it is. Seems like a low density area though. Probably only a few, scattered around."</p><p>Arlen noted the kid was looking at the bracelet rather than the terrain ahead. He shook his head, examining the road. It was perfect for an ambush; a tall promontory edged the road down, towards a Bridges station that would serve as a pit stop to charge the bike before proceeding. It seemed too easy.</p><p>"You have an odradek?" Arlen asked. Naoise inhaled sharply.</p><p>"I do not," he replied. Arlen glanced at him once more.</p><p>"Why not?" he inquired once more. All Bridges people paraded those high-en designs around like trophies, anyway.</p><p>"I don't like them," Naoise replied, suddenly brief in his answers.</p><p>“Fuck,” Arlen sighed, a low whine. He could feel Naoise’s eyes on the back of his head, questioning.</p><p>He had assumed that, if he was to work with a Bridges employee, they would have the basic decency of bringing up their own equipment. Now, he was in a pickle. He knew exactly what his actions would bring if it transcended to the rest of the company. What would they accuse him of? Thievery? Corporate espionage? Kidnapping?</p><p>The kid, Naoise, seemed like one of those goodie two-shoes types. Would he bring it up at the end of their journey together? The way he saw it, it was either reveal his secret or go in blind in enemy territory. He knew well enough to avoid the second option.</p><p>"Alright, then," he grumbled, moving a component from the front pouch of his suit, and holding on to a hose. "It's been a while."</p><p>“What are you- what is that?” he heard Naoise inquire, but promptly ignored him.</p><p>He didn’t like using his odradek - even less with a Bridges employee eavesdropping, considering its sorry state and the special circumstances of his equipment, but it wasn’t the only thing. When he connected with that last remnant of his old life, the memories flooded back. The same nausea, the same thrill of old. The same fears.</p><p>A dark, heavy pulse on the back of his head. Echoes of a life long lost to time. A life, awakening at last after a long slumber. And a dark presence, breathing down his neck.</p><p>
  <strong>⛧̶̹̬̳̪̫̔̎̿̿̅ ̵̳̔̊̎͝ ̴̲̙̟̗̯́̃̈́͊⛥̷̡̟͆̈́̈́ ̴̢̝͙͆̓͌̒⛥̴̢̎͂̈́̓ ̷͎̘̳̖̄̾ͅ⛥̴͎̄͑̈́̋̍̕ͅ ̴̛̹̤̩̰͎̾͛̎̚.̵̥͍̞̖̥͛̋͌.̵̣̹̬̼͓͆̑̽̓̿.̴̢̭̗̉͠ ̶͎̖̪̲̅̚͝⛧̶̨̘̟̖̩̩̿͑̑͒̆ ̶̨̭͉̤͚͊͝⛧̷̭̽͒̃̾̊ ̶̨̣̣̒̕ͅ⛧̵̛͔̞̐̈́ ̷̙̹̹̭̎͛̆̆̓ </strong>
</p><p>
  <em> “Oh my, that’s a lot.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Arlen glanced back at him, cowered behind a rock, odradek pointing directly at his face; BB giggled, one of its little hands opening and closing towards his own tank, connected and functioning, and also signing at him. He covered his eyes from the light, endlessly amused under his hood. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Stop fucking around,” Arlen grumbled, urgently gesturing beside him. “Come here and stay quiet.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He smiled, and a short chuckle broke against his lips. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Check this shit out, dear.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> With an agile jump, he stood tall above the rock Arlen cowered behind. He caught his terrified face as he raised his hands at elbow level, breathing in and out. The BTs turned their inexpressive heads towards him, grasping, reaching - an oily, black substance beginning to rise from the ground, seeping into the land. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Shit,” he heard Arlen exclaim, as the BBs cried out in fear. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He exhaled, raising his hands towards the sky, the sudden weight of the world straining his arms. Beads of sweat ran down his temple, as he managed to elevate his hands with a grunt. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The tar climbed upwards, and he felt Arlen climbing up beside him, trying to escape it. His odradek rotated, signaling the impending danger all around him. But he wasn’t afraid. He was, at last, beyond fear. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> With a roar, he teared the clouds from the sky with both arms, as the shadows parted, and the sun pierced through the rain. He smiled - as bright as the sun, as he glanced down at Arlen, who contemplated him dumbfounded. </em>
</p><p>
  <strong>⛧̶̹̬̳̪̫̔̎̿̿̅ ̵̳̔̊̎͝ ̴̲̙̟̗̯́̃̈́͊⛥̷̡̟͆̈́̈́ ̴̢̝͙͆̓͌̒⛥̴̢̎͂̈́̓ ̷͎̘̳̖̄̾ͅ⛥̴͎̄͑̈́̋̍̕ͅ ̴̛̹̤̩̰͎̾͛̎̚.̵̥͍̞̖̥͛̋͌.̵̣̹̬̼͓͆̑̽̓̿.̴̢̭̗̉͠ ̶͎̖̪̲̅̚͝⛧̶̨̘̟̖̩̩̿͑̑͒̆ ̶̨̭͉̤͚͊͝⛧̷̭̽͒̃̾̊ ̶̨̣̣̒̕ͅ⛧̵̛͔̞̐̈́ ̷̙̹̹̭̎͛̆̆̓ </strong>
</p><p>He slapped the back of his neck reflexively, making Naoise jump backwards. He had almost forgotten the kid was still back there.</p><p>“Is that-...”</p><p>“Don’t mention it,” Arlen cut him. The less was said about it, the better. “Now let me focus.”</p><p>He climbed down from the bike, as he looked down on his wrist. The markings of his old bracelet were still there - never fading despite the years. With a heavy sigh, he connected the loose piece once more, making it light up. It felt like handcuffs.</p><p>“You were a Bridges employee,” Naoise noted, shocked. Arlen grimaced.</p><p>“I wasn’t,” he grumbled in response.</p><p>“Then why-... how?” he babbled. Arlen shot him a glare.</p><p>“Shut up,” he asked. “I told you to let me focus.”</p><p>Naoise pouted, offended, and Arlen wondered if he had sounded too rude or authoritative. However, it wasn’t time to ponder about such things. Not so close to the MULE camp.</p><p>He tapped on the glass of the tank that was, now, connected to him, feeling the being inside reacting to the contact as the glass lit up from the inside, revealing the sleeping fetus glancing up at him. At the same time, his odradek perked up from his back, like a startled animal, and surveyed the surrounding area in a confused motion.</p><p>“Drowsy, huh?” Arlen commented. “Alright. Let’s get to work.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. 007</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oh look! It's one of the funny numbers!</p><p>Some secrets are revealed, other remain secrets. For now. More revelations to come.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>Delivery log 007</b>
  </p>
  <p><b>Subject:</b> The Central Knot Incident</p>
  <p><b>Porters:</b> Naoise Porter - Bridges | Arlen - Independent Contractor</p>
  <p><b>Cargo status:</b> 50% package damage, 0% cargo damage. Delivery pending.</p>
  <p>
    <em> <b>Warning: data corruption at 20%. T̶a̶m̸p̶e̵r̴i̴n̵g̴ ̵s̷u̶s̴p̷e̸c̷t̵e̷d̸.̴ ⛥̸̩̲͋̔ ̴̙̆̏L̷̳͛͒͑̈́o̴̺͔̭̒͛̈́͠ǵ̶̯̝̹̿͂s̷̹̜͙͙̐ ̸̖̲͝m̷̪͋͋̄ĩ̵͎͎͚̔͠͠⛥̸h̸̰͍͕̠̋t̴̮̖̠͋̂͊͜ ̵͇̠̭̈́̅̚ạ̶͍̦̌̌ṕ̷̢̫͜p̵̤̦̫͙̽͑e̸͈̝̠̽a̴̡̱͆̃̈́r̴̺̘̻̝͐̌̉ ̸͉̌̐ö̷̜̣̤̥́u̶͚̠̎̓̿̚t̵̡̓͐̚͠ ̶̢͎̫̏͝͝⛥̸f̶̨̲̟̻͛̕ ̵̘͋̋͘͜o̵͔̩̻̓̍ŗ̶͓͙̚d̷̝̼͇̊̑̆̕e̸̘̣̯̺͒̃͗r̵̳̜̩̉͒̈́.̶̬̥͂̄̚̚ͅ ̷̛̬͖̥̝̈́̕⛧̴̨̌͐́̚</b> </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> <b>ψ̴̣̫̘͔͎͝͝ ̵̛͓͍̬͎̰̫̚̕⛥̴̢̢̿ ̷̛̘̦̪͔̓͐͗͛͐ͅ⛧̴͈̹̅̽̐̒ ̵͈͍̞̤̓̍ͅ.̸̩̎̊̈͑̐͘.̸̛̜͍͇͕̿̒̓͝.̵̣̤͔̔͌̐̆͘ ̶͇̳̑̃̆͘͘ ̸̙͈͔̼̀⛧̶͇̰̣̱̇͗͊̚ ̸̠̏̉͝͝⛧̵̜̺̞͈͍̐͒̈́̾͜ </b> </em>
  </p>
  <p><b>Y<strong>☠̵</strong>u are n<strong>☠̵</strong>w list<strong>☠̵</strong>ning: </b>Low Roar - The Machine</p>
  <p>ψ̴̣̫̘͔͎͝͝ ̵̛͓͍̬͎̰̫̚̕⛥̴̢̢̿ ̷̛̘̦̪͔̓͐͗͛͐ͅ⛧̴͈̹̅̽̐̒ ̵͈͍̞̤̓̍ͅ.̸̩̎̊̈͑̐͘.̸̛̜͍͇͕̿̒̓͝.̵̣̤͔̔͌̐̆͘ ̶͇̳̑̃̆͘͘ ̸̙͈͔̼̀⛧̶͇̰̣̱̇͗͊̚ ̸̠̏̉͝͝⛧̵̜̺̞͈͍̐͒̈́̾͜</p>
</blockquote><div>
  <p>“Why couldn’t you say anything?” Arlen asked - head still tilted, a cigarette pressed between his lips. He still had no luck lighting it up, but chewing on it seemed to calm him down in a similar way as tobacco would.</p>
  <p>“About my situation?” Naoise asked back. Arlen nodded. “Alright. The short answer, as I previously said: corporate doesn’t trust you enough. You’re an independent contractor - as far as they know.”</p>
  <p>He nodded towards Arlen’s bracelet, now disconnected. He grunted, covering it up with his hand.</p>
  <p>“The long answer,” Naoise continued, “is that Dooms - and those that possess them, are a valuable tool for Bridges. Our unique connections make us huge assets. And huge targets as well.”</p>
  <p>“Targets?” Arlen replied, raising an eyebrow.</p>
  <p>“For private contractors,” Naoise explained. “Fragile is a big one. They need more Porters. Bridges has an alliance with them on Lake Knot City, but they wouldn’t want to lose a Porter to them - less one like me. Not to mention-...”</p>
  <p>He hesitated, biting his lip. He had said enough about it; way more than what his level of clearance would’ve allowed him to. Especially considering the stolen BB tank Arlen kept beside the bike. But, even with his bindings, he was finding it hard to be afraid of him.</p>
  <p>“Not to mention…” Arlen echoed, frowning once more. Naoise blinked at him.</p>
  <p>“I… our mission… in this whole situation, you are on a need-to-know basis,” he repeated, mouth dry and a tingle of nervousness at the back of the neck. He had said too much. “Right now, you don’t need to know.”</p>
  <p>“Cut the crap, kid,” Arlen suddenly stood up, looking down on him. “We’re way past the point of classification.”</p>
  <p>“You have me tied up, at your mercy,” Naoise noted, once again repressing the trembling in his voice. “I won’t be sharing my last bargain chips all at once, don’t you think?”</p>
  <p>After a brief pause, Arlen groaned, sitting back down with a huff.</p>
  <p>“I’m not a murderer,” he muttered, reluctant. “I don’t give a fuck about Bridges, or you. I just want to do my job without one of you Dooms freaks hunting me down for sport.”</p>
  <p>It was Naoise’s turn to raise an eyebrow.</p>
  <p>“Why would I do that?” he questioned, a chuckle escaping his tight-lipped control.</p>
  <p>Wrong move. Arlen glared at him once more.</p>
  <p>“I told you: I know your kind,” he snarled, pointing at Naoise’s chest. “It’s all gifts and smiles until your screws loosen up on all that death goop. And you aint coming back from that.”</p>
  <p>As Arlen talked, Naoise heard the tingle of the dog tags that hung from his chest. He couldn’t help to look down at them; mementos from a partnership long since gone. It wasn’t usual for lonely Porters, always at risk of becoming MULEs, to keep a piece of their old life with them in such an intimate way. Not to mention the BB unit he carried and used with such diligence.</p>
  <p>He could see it, crystal clear on Arlen’s arms. The grasping hands, forever imprinted on his dark, glistening skin.</p>
  <p>“What do you know about Homo Demens?”</p>
  <p>He glanced up, meeting Arlen’s paralized grimace. Yeah, he had figured out as much.</p>
  <p>“They’re terrorists,” Arlen mumbled, crossing his arms, now on the defensive.</p>
  <p>“They are,” Naoise agreed. “They’d rather have us all consumed by BTs than reuniting what’s left of us all. They’d rather let humanity die. Bridges wants to oppose them - but it’s hard. You’re from around Middle Knot City. You know how it is.”</p>
  <p>“They blew the whole damn thing up,” Arlen commented, eyes low, lost in memories. Naoise wondered how much he actually knew. He figured the feeling was mutual, and somebody had to raise a bridge between them.</p>
  <p>“There are… rumors,” Naoise said, looking out towards the rain. “They’d like other powerful players as well. Someone with a stronger connection with the… you know. The other side.”</p>
  <p>Finally, Arlen raised his eyes, studying Naoise’s face.</p>
  <p>“I was a kid,” Naoise recalled. “One of the last ones that was born like the old times, I guess. Mom and dad weren’t preppers at first, but once it all went down, they retired to one of those bunkers down south on the east coast.”</p>
  <p>His voice was mechanic, detached. There wasn’t much color he could add, much details he could bring up.</p>
  <p>“Something happened. Chiralium levels raised suddenly, and the whole place was surrounded by BTs,” he continued. “There was an explosion.”</p>
  <p>He blinked, tilting his head to the side.</p>
  <p>“I can’t remember a thing,” he confessed. “I was too young. My file says I suffered some kind of trauma after it all went down and I came back. But Bridges found me - right at the edge of the crater.”</p>
  <p>He glanced at Arlen's odradek, and shivered.</p>
  <p>"The only thing left, before the Beach and the water, was that damn 'clack, clack, clack'," Naoise recalled. "The sound of an odradek's flaps drives me mad. And I don't need one, anyway - I can see them. Not to mention… I can come back."</p>
  <p>“Holy shit,” Arlen suddenly mumbled, perking up in shock. “You’re a repatriated.”</p>
  <p>Naoise smiled nervously.</p>
  <p>“You said it,” he pointed out. “I didn’t tell you anything.”</p>
  <p>Rain poured outside the cave, as Arlen glanced down at his boots, chewing on the filter of his cigarette.</p>
  <p>“Now, I’ve talked enough,” Naoise stated, trying to sit more comfortably in his position. “How about you let me go?”</p>
  <p>“How about I don’t do that?” Arlen replied, once again crossing his arms. Naoise sighed.</p>
  <p>“Okay, then. How about you tell me about that stolen odradek and Bridges Baby? The poor things seem a little busted.”</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. 008</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Time to do some MULE punching.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>D̷e̴l☠̵i̷v̷e̵r̵y̷ ̴l̵☠̵g̵ ̸☠̵0̸8̷</strong>
  </p>
  <p><b>Subject:</b> The C☠̵pital Knot I☠̵cident</p>
  <p><b>Porters:</b> Naoise Porter - Bridges | A☠̵len - I☠̵depen☠̵ent C☠̵ntra☠̵☠̵or</p>
  <p><b>Cargo status:</b> 1% package damage, 0% cargo damage. Delivery pending.</p>
  <p>
    <em> <b>W̷̦a̶̺͋r̴̭̀n̶͓̈́i̴̤n̴̖͂g̶͙̈:̷̳̈́  d<strong>☠̵</strong>ta co<strong>☠̵</strong>ru<strong>☠̵☠̵</strong>io<strong>☠̵</strong> at 4<strong>☠̵</strong>%. Ta<strong>☠̵</strong>peri<strong>☠̵☠̵</strong> sus<strong>☠̵</strong>ecte<strong>☠̵</strong>. L<strong>☠̵</strong>gs might ap<strong>☠̵</strong>ea<strong>☠̵</strong> <strong>☠̵</strong>ut o<strong>☠̵</strong> or<strong>☠̵</strong><strong>☠̵</strong>r.</b> </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> <b>ψ̴̣̫̘͔͎͝͝ ̵̛͓͍̬͎̰̫̚̕⛥̴̢̢̿ ̷̛̘̦̪͔̓͐͗͛͐ͅ⛧̴͈̹̅̽̐̒ ̵͈͍̞̤̓̍ͅ.̸̩̎̊̈͑̐͘.̸̛̜͍͇͕̿̒̓͝.̵̣̤͔̔͌̐̆͘ ̶͇̳̑̃̆͘͘ ̸̙͈͔̼̀⛧̶͇̰̣̱̇͗͊̚ ̸̠̏̉͝͝⛧̵̜̺̞͈͍̐͒̈́̾͜ </b> </em>
  </p>
  <p><b>Y<strong>☠̵</strong>u are n<strong>☠̵</strong>w list<strong>☠̵</strong>ning: </b>Apocalyptica - Path</p>
  <p>ψ̴̣̫̘͔͎͝͝ ̵̛͓͍̬͎̰̫̚̕⛥̴̢̢̿ ̷̛̘̦̪͔̓͐͗͛͐ͅ⛧̴͈̹̅̽̐̒ ̵͈͍̞̤̓̍ͅ.̸̩̎̊̈͑̐͘.̸̛̜͍͇͕̿̒̓͝.̵̣̤͔̔͌̐̆͘ ̶͇̳̑̃̆͘͘ ̸̙͈͔̼̀⛧̶͇̰̣̱̇͗͊̚ ̸̠̏̉͝͝⛧̵̜̺̞͈͍̐͒̈́̾͜</p>
</blockquote><p>The odradek shot a pulse, and Arlen could see them. Packages, endless packages moving around, roaming the land. Big, small, important, personal. All crawling like snails down the mountain side, turning and turning in a maddening dance. There was even a mailbox; a silent totem in the middle of the chaos.</p><p>“They’ve got their asses kicked,” Arlen announced. Naoise raised his eyes at him. “Now they’ve got savvy.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Naoise questioned. Arlen grunted as he climbed up the bike again.</p><p>“Someone came and started shit up with them, and now they have reinforcements,” a pause. He wouldn’t be letting all the cargo at the hands of a child without an odradek to beat MULEs up one by one. “We're gonna have to speed past.”</p><p>He could hear Naoise breathing in sharply as he spoke.</p><p>“Couldn’t we go around them?” he suggested. Arlen hummed.</p><p>“Their territory has extended way beyond what it used to be,” he pointed out, waving his arm towards the northern mountains. A line of yellow beacons shone faintly under the dying sun. “It’s either that, or leaving the bike behind to go up the mountain. And I ain't leaving the bike behind.”</p><p>After a brief pause, Naoise sighed, and Arlen could feel his hands hanging on to the sides of his cargo.</p><p>“Alright,” he said. “Drive.”</p><p>“Pray they don’t have live ammo.”</p><p>Naoise’s “WHAT” was eclipsed when Arlen accelerated, making the motor roar under them as the wheels turned in place, spraying mud to the grasping, golden hands behind. Then, he released the brakes, propelling them down the mountain.</p><p>The beacons had barely registered their passage when they jumped above the rocks, landing on a narrow dirt road coiling around the rocks. BB whined, announcing their predicament - the buzz of a tracker was loud on Arlen's ears.</p><p>He tried to nullify the pulse with one of his own, odradek perking up and loading, but the shot came too late. The yellow beacons turned red, and an alarm blared across the path.</p><p><em> We’re a moving payload </em>, Arlen thought, flying over sudden drops and soft, grassy hills. They had too much load to be ignored. They were too tempting, too good to let just pass peacefully. And his goddamn odradek wasn’t cooperating.</p><p>“Whoa!” Naoise exclaimed, cowering behind. Arlen glanced beside, noticing an electrical spear barely passing above his head. Many dark, moving shadows ran above the ledge, following their trajectory.</p><p>More spears joined the first one, some barely missing the bike, sending electrical ripples to them. Arlen grunted when he had to steer the vehicle away from an electrical blast on the floor, feeling the weight of their excessive cargo sway behind. The wheels buried down on the mud, gripping at it desperately as they fought to stay upwards as they drifted, looking for a way between the sudden maze of spears.</p><p>It took one well-placed spear, directly on top of his front right wheel, to make Arlen drift once again, hitting a rock head-on. He felt Naoise’s body impacting with his cargo because of the sudden stop, as the MULEs appeared out of every rocky crevice, running like dogs towards a piece of raw meat.</p><p>“Fuck,” Arlen grunted, climbing down. “Fuck!”</p><p>“What are you-...” Naoise protested, when Arlen unloaded his cargo and stuck it behind his back. The weight made him lean backwards, until Arlen kicked him back up.</p><p>“Go back” he said, as he cracked his knuckles under the gloves. “The bike's still good - for now. They’re scared of the timefall. Don’t let them surround you and don't let one of those spears hit the bike.”</p><p>“But you-”</p><p>“Fucking drive!” Arlen ordered, as spears cut the air towards the vehicle. Naoise, taken aback, nodded before turning the bike around, driving back towards the mountain pass.</p><p>One of the MULEs tried to run past him and grab Naoise, but Arlen tackled him to the ground with one push of his shoulder. It was as if he was an invisible menace - no packages, no fun. </p><p>He noticed one bike (no doubt, a stolen one) speeding in pursuit, trying to reach the kid before he managed to escape, so he grabbed one of the spears from the ground and swatted at his head, making him drop like dead weight to the ground as the bike spiraled out of control, hitting a rock formation and throwing sparkles towards the cloudy sky. Only then the MULEs turned towards him, confused at first, but running once more to face him.</p><p>Arlen evaded a spear thrown his way, grabbing another attacker’s one once he was close enough to try and spear him head on, kicking him in the chest and sending him flying backwards. Two more attempted at tackling him, but Arlen grabbed one’s arm and swung him towards the other one, making them collapse against the nearby face of the cliff.</p><p>A shock made him cry out in pain, noticing some other MULEs threw spears at him from up the cliff. He retaliated by throwing one himself, nailing one in the chest - the pulse quickly incapacitating him. At least it wasn’t live ammo like some other groups he had met before. It hurt, sure, but it wouldn’t kill him.</p><p>He glanced up towards the mountains, where Naoise had stopped the motorcycle and looked down at him. Despite the distance, he noticed his eyes fixed on him, wide and scared, paralized as he contemplated the violence he was, obviously, not used to.</p><p>More and more seemed to appear from every shadow, but Arlen was sure to be able to beat them. Until his odradek suddenly lit up, pointing at the road down south with an urgency that could only mean one thing.</p><p>He looked down the way, where a l☠̵nely sh☠̵dow observe☠̵ the co☠̵frontat☠̵on. And a punch on his cheek made him stumble backwards.</p><p>Arlen shook his head, trying to get his bearings, but receiving another shock on his back. The direct hit made him stumble once more, trying to retaliate, only to be met with a kick on his knee. He grunted, about to drop, struggling to keep standing, but the way the MULEs managed to surround him made him realize he was in for a good beating. Luckily he had sent the kid and the cargo away, he thought, trying to block the punches to his face with his forearms. BB cried out in distress, and his odradek waved around like a wounded animal in desperation.</p><p>And then, a flash of blinding light, and the sound of the MULEs struggling and yelling out.</p><p>Arlen turned around, finding the kid, Naoise, taking on two of the MULEs on his back with his body. And then, another flash, and he was gone.</p><p>The MULEs scrambled, confused, until Naoise appeared outside the circle and punched another one square in the jaw. When the crazed Porter tried to retaliate, Naoise vanished in front of his very eyes, appearing behind him and pushing him to the ground.</p><p>Taking advantage of their distraction, Arlen bashed one of the MULEs’ faces with the PCC on his arm, as Naoise kicked another one on the back and promptly vanished once more. He reappeared at Arlen’s back again, arms up in guard, breathing ravaged but stone-faced, ready to face anything.</p><p>Until a low thunder rolled from up the mountains, and the clouds gathered above the confrontation. The MULEs glanced up in fear, as Arlen and Naoise’s hoods propped up once more when the rain began to fall.</p><p>Yelling instructions and swears, the MULEs ran for the mountains. Soon enough, Arlen and Naoise stood alone in the middle of the pouring rain.</p><p>Then, Naoise stumbled backwards, hitting Arlen’s back. He turned, only to see the boy stumbling ahead now, about to fall. Without thinking, he caught him before he collapsed - blood dripping from his nose.</p><p>He looked down at him, face frozen on a grimace of both surprise, and horror as he checked on the kid’s breath with his exposed cheek. Dooms, he thought. The kid had Dooms. That was why Bridges employees had him in such high esteem, despite him being too green for the wild outdoors. That was why they were so adamant for him to reach Capital Knot.</p><p>And he didn’t tell him. He didn’t say anything. Probably because they knew he would’ve said no. The kid was as bad as they were. Yet another Dooms freak, hot on his trail.</p><p>His odradek stumbled and waved, confused, but Arlen paid no mind. He had to get somewhere safe from the timefall. He had to avoid them turning into a crater in the middle of the one road left towards the end of his journey. And he had to answer to Bridges in case <em> something </em> happened to their precious prodigy.</p><p>“Fuck,” he mumbled one last time, picking up Naoise and going to grab the motorcycle to hole out in a cave nearby.</p><p>His odradek kept on pointing up and turning like a radar, fixed on the cl☠̵aked fig☠̵re st☠̵nding n☠̵w abov☠̵ the cliff, looking down at the scene. He qui☠̵tly p☠̵t a fi☠̵ger to h☠̵s lips, h☠̵shing, bef☠̵re van☠̵shing like ☠̵ne with the sh☠̵dows.</p><p>
  <strong>T̶̳͂̚h̸͖̩̟́e̴͖̺͝ ̵̛̠̉̾̔p̸͙̹̱̹̀̂͒̋a̶͍͖̣̘̐̽̈́̆r̴͈̩̄̀ṱ̴̥̰̠͐̑̿į̵̪̙̑̈́c̸̯͒͘͝l̵̫̄͑͗̃e̷̯͖̒͌̔ ̷̙͔͒ǫ̷̼̙̈̾f̴̝̪̑͐ ̴́̑̒ͅG̵̲̩̀̄ǫ̶̡̯͝d̴̮̣͌̐̌̕ ̵̮̘͛̈́̎p̶̢̹̈́e̴̲̳̋̀͐̇r̵̼̫͍̣̒͝m̸̹̈͊͌̄è̶͕̭̆a̶͔͙̬͎̓̋̓̎ţ̶̜̱̠̆͗̈́̌ẹ̷͎͗͜͜s̸̜̱͒̄ ̸͈̱̀a̶̝̐͜ľ̷͔̂͝l̵͎̹̻̈́̈́ ̶̪̾e̷̫̬̅x̷̭̬̣̫͌̈͋i̴̘̪̬̅s̸̺̖̤͕͌̇͒͝t̶̳̬̱̒̿̈́͘e̷̫͆͝n̷͓̳̱͈͂c̷̤̹̎̽̈́e̸̖͕̞̫̐͆̚</strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. 009</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>Delivery log 009</b>
  </p>
  <p><b>Subject:</b> The Capital Knot Incident</p>
  <p><b>Porters:</b> Naoise Porter - Bridges | Arlen - Independent Contractor</p>
  <p><b>Cargo status:</b> 50% package damage, 0% cargo damage. Delivery pending.</p>
  <p>
    <em> <b>Warning: data corruption at 15%. Tampering suspected. Logs might appear out of order.</b> </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Arlen seemed, suddenly, evasive. He frowned, and paced, and glanced at him from time to time. Naoise contemplated his unease with little sympathy - he was still tied up, after all. But it would be a lie to say he had no sympathy whatsoever towards his very quiet captor.</p><p>“Well, if you’re not going to say anything, I don't think we’ll reach an understanding,” he gently pressed. Arlen glared at him, still chewing on the same cigarette. In a way, he seemed more trapped than him.</p><p>He finally dropped in front of him again - still keeping his distance. Once again he examined Naoise’s face, but he noticed he avoided staring directly into his eyes.</p><p>“Be specific,” he demanded, or perhaps asked. Naoise had started to realize he was blunt, but not aggressive.</p><p>“Very well,” Naoise conceded. “Why did you connect your BB to your odradek with no BTs around? That’s an unusual thing to do.”</p><p>Arlen took his cigarette out, narrowing his eyes, thinking.</p><p>“That thing over there,” Arlen said, pointing at his discarded equipment. “It’s old as fuck.”</p><p>Naoise figured as much. It was rusted in places, and clearly mistreated by use and the elements.</p><p>“It’s a stubborn little shit sometimes,” Arlen added. “The BB puts it to work. It’s annoying, I don’t use it much. I hate connecting to that thing, but sometimes you just gotta.”</p><p>“Bridges’ odradeks are made to last, though,” Naoise pointed out, surprised when he was met with a bitter chuckle.</p><p>“When did I say this is Bridges’ shit?” Arlen explained, grabbing his odradek and examining it. “It’s a bootleg one.”</p><p>Naoise leaned in, at parts fascinated and terrified by the discovery. The object had only four flaps instead of the usual five, and was clearly not properly isolated against the timefall.</p><p>“This is in dire need of some repairs,” he mumbled, and Arlen chuckled again.</p><p>“What in the phrase ‘I have a stolen BB’ makes you think I want to have my equipment checked out by you, people?” he said. “No thank you.”</p><p>“Good point,” Naoise mumbled. Then, looked up at Arlen once more. “Alright then. What about the Bridges Baby?”</p><p>Again, back to the start, Arlen grumbled, getting up, and pacing around the room. Naoise sighed, rubbing his hands together. If not for his thick gloves, he was sure his hands would be long since in pins and needles for the lack of circulation.</p><p>“It’s not stolen,” Arlen finally muttered, chewing on the cigarette. Naoise glanced up.</p><p>“The Bridges Baby?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Then you were a Bridges employee,” Naoise stated, blinking in confusion.</p><p>“No,” Arlen grunted, pacing with his arms crossed now.</p><p>“Then how is it not stolen?” Naoise asked now, about to lose his patience. Arlen seemed similarly upset.</p><p>“It’s borrowed,” he spat, throwing him a glare. “I ain’t no thief. Someone… gave it to me.”</p><p>“A Bridges employee?” Naoise pushed further, skeptical. “Someone stole it for you?”</p><p>“Fuck’s sake,” Arlen grumbled, fists balled.</p><p>“Alright, okay, it’s not stolen,” Naoise conceded, eyes fixed on his fists. “Then, what happened? Why did you never turn it in?”</p><p>“And where the fuck was I supposed to do that?” Arlen sneered, palm against the humid rock. “The whole place is a fucking crater now. Choke full of BTs. Who was I supposed to turn it in to? One of those giant dead sons of bitches?”</p><p>As Arlen weaved a long string of insults with the same natural grace he drove a Bridges motorcycle, Naoise realized something. It wasn’t just that Arlen was from <em> around </em> Middle Knot City.</p><p>“Wait, hold on,” Naoise asked, perking up once more. “You were from Middle Knot City!”</p><p>Arlen stopped pacing, throwing him a cautious glance.</p><p>“Yeah,” he replied. Naoise inhaled sharply.</p><p>“You saw the disaster!” he realized. “And you lived through it!”</p><p>Arlen didn’t answer, but it wasn’t needed. Naoise realized he was in for something incredible, something unique. His curiosity took the best of him, and he was eager to converse.</p><p>“Oh my God, you must have original files from before the explosion!” Naoise noted, glancing at Arlen’s bracelet. “We could interview you to broaden our understanding of the tragedy! To help out the refugees! To maybe, just maybe, be able to rebuild what was lost!”</p><p>“You aren’t doing me any questions, kid,” Arlen grumbled, but Naoise was ecstatic.</p><p>“Just think of how much we could broaden our understanding of the life of the people around Middle Knot City’s ruins!” he exclaimed. “And that Bridges Baby - their memories, might contain so much data about what was lost!”</p><p>Arlen stood still, his face a mixture of confused emotions fighting to predominate behind his stoic facade. A fragile, yet immobile facade, with a storm brewing within. Naoise’s smile slid down his face, realizing something he didn’t expect to realize. Not here, not now. Even less with Arlen in specific, with him tied up inside a cave.</p><p>Naoise knew, all of the sudden, the inescapable horror of the world they were forced to survive in. The frustrating slog of days spent lost in silence, with only mortal danger to keep the routine at bay. An existence without purpose, without an endgame. And the terrible, banal, heartbreaking-yet-frustrating, self-imposed duty to keep going. To keep moving.</p><p>Something happened. Unquantifiable, yet undeniable. Naoise’s heart, as some lame poet wrote somewhere in the nebulous past, skipped a beat. Because he understood something about loss, and about his own, strange relationship with it.</p><p>He had died, and returned. He knew about the desolate landscape of the Beach. About the quietness of the sea. Yet, he knew no fear related to its unknown, vast nature - not in the way it resided, crystalized, on Arlen’s eyes.</p><p>Arlen looked away, and Naoise lowered his head. The moment passed, and rain poured outside.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Naoise mumbled. Then, he heard Arlen’s soft steps advancing towards him.</p><p>When he raised his head, his heart slammed against his chest. For Arlen brought a knife with him, stoic resolution on his face. Naoise tried to squirrel away, meeting Arlen’s iron grip on his arm, making him turn away from him.</p><p>A ‘snap’ later, Naoise felt his hands free. Arlen let him go, sitting back down on his spot, keeping his distance as he chewed his cigarette and contemplated the entrance of the cave.</p><p>Naoise rubbed his wrists, unable to stop staring. Arlen kept on trying to light up his cigarette, to no avail. A wall of silence kept them separated, isolated from each other, despite the closed space.</p><p>And Naoise jumped the distance, the roar of the chiral spike accompanying him when he appeared beside Arlen, who flinched slightly at the noise and light.</p><p>“You do knew I could’ve jump when you fed me the cryptobiote, right?” Naoise asked, breathing hinged, slightly off-balance because of the effort to go across his Beach once more. Arlen kept quiet for a second.</p><p>“I know now,” he grumbled.</p><p>“I just wanted you to trust me,” Naoise explained then, dropping down to sit down on the floor, grabbing another cryptobiote and chewing on it. “I am no Homo Demens, and I’ll never be one.”</p><p>Finally, a spark ignited Arlen’s match, which he quickly used to light up his cigarette. He deeply inhaled the smoke, closing his eyes for a second, only to throw a side glance at Naoise.</p><p>“We’ll see about that.”</p><p>And the rain kept pouring outside.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. ???</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is where I, as an author, go completely off the shits.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>Delivery log </b> <strong>⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́</strong></p>
  <p><b>Subject:</b> ⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́ ⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́ ⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́ ⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́</p>
  <p><b>Porters:</b> M⛧̸́rrissey Port⛧̸́r - Br⛧̸́dges | Arlen - Independent Contractor</p>
  <p><b>Cargo status:</b> ⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́% package damage, ⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́% cargo damage. Order lost.</p>
  <p>
    <em> <b>W̵̢͇̘̫͚͗̂⛧̸́r̶̜̙̂͌n̶̥̫̝͙̣͂͆̈́i̸̙̭̕n̵̥͑͑̒̌̕ģ̶͈̗̎:̸͙̫̠̻̼͂͐̔̕ d̷̨͇̂̓̒⛧̶̸̴̸̥̦̱̱̻̋̈́̓́ͅt̴̯̤͈̾͛ä̶̟̰́̈̈́̌͌ ̴̥̤̓͊c̶̨̛̮̣̉̈́̾̆͜⛧̵r̵̫͓̝̟̿̊̀̈̍r̸̝̘̔́̍u̶͖̳̎͝⛧̶̸̴̡̛̞̇̎͐̈́ͅȉ̶̜͚̱̳̮̑̈́o̶̡̡̙̝͖̽͝n̴̛̪͉͎͌̑̃ ̵̟̞̹̠̀͜ȁ̶̢͎̮̈ț̵̄̿̆ ̸̰̯̞̤̺͒̾̄̋1̵̘̟͚͊͑̔̊̔0̷̣̲̎̎͂͆̚0̸̡͚̃̈́͗͑%̴̪͙͍̄̃.̷̤̮̅ ̶̟͒̄̅̅̈́T̴͇͍̥͒̄͑̇⛧̸m̶̫̭̲̦͈̈́͋͛̚⛧̸̾⛧̵̸̷̻̣̅r̶͙̦̺̍̇̿̑̌ḯ̶̥̃n̵̖͓͍̚ḡ̷̳̳̽̍ͅ ̶̡̗͇͊̀s̷͖̰̤͉͆͌̂ͅ⛧̸̸̴̨̭̦̒s̴̨̫̣̈͒p̸̫͕͈̼̀̑̎̂̉ͅe̸͎͇̝͍̊͑͋̽͛c̷̡̧͓̅̔̓̾⛧̶̀e̶̟̺͇̔̐̇̔͝⛧̶̽.̸͓̬̳̹͕͌̂͌̄ L̵̠͍͔̮̟̈̉̑̅̆̏͐̉̈́͘⛧̸⛧̵s̷͉̫̭͚̺̎̆ ̴̡͉͖̾͑͑̎̐̉͆͑̈́͆͑͝m̵̨̧̥͎̻̞̗̻̭̘̀̍̒̊̈́̐̈̐̚͜ͅ⛧̵̛̔̒̆g̸̹̗̺̥͙͈̬̃̈́͋͛̉̀̆͌̂͘͝h̴̳̏͑̂̽̐̓̎t̵̥̻̭̜̥̤̻̮̾͋̅͜͜ ̵̬̦̪̪̭̬̳̃͜a̸̡̬̫̽̒̉̄͌̓̓̽̇̃̌͌⛧̴⛧̵e̴͈̝͋̄ä̸̛͕̤͇͓̹̹̣̦̬̬̰́͗̅̅̈́⛧̸̈́ ̶̘̪͈͚̝͉̰̎̂̾͛͜o̶͖̮̮̓͋̄⛧̸̇̾⛧̷ ̴̫͐̋̎͊ǫ̵̩̬̲̝̝̣̯̱͗̈́͑͜͝f̷̰̰̃̆̑̈́̒̏ͅ ̸̦͐̄́̌̕͝ö̷͚́̓̒̒̉͝⛧̴̛̓ď̷͓̼̯̌͑̊⛧̸r̸̨̖̰̍̄̈́̊̈́̕͜.̶̭̰͖̙̻̞́̎̎͆̈́̆͗͛͘ Ẅ̴͇̠̗̗́͗̓ḧ̶͇̘̬y̵̗͍̦̲͐͠͝ ̸̻̟̩̂b̷̦́̇̾ö̷̥́̃t̶̖̞̑h̶̼͑è̶̻̜͈͋r̸͈͙̿̚ ̶̨̬͉͚͐w̷̺͔͍̳̾̀i̸̛͒͜͠ť̸̗̠̀̓͝h̵͈̓ ̸̲̇̽͋͝t̶̟̀̽͘ĥ̶͓͈͌̚e̸̠̝̓͐i̵̡̲͕̹̊͘͠͝r̵̦̯͉̟̿̈̿̎ ̵̧̥̖̳̑̐͛͑ļ̸̼͓̯̆ī̸͔̀̃̔t̵͙̣͌̓t̸̗̻̩̓l̵̨̞̐͑͗̀ḛ̴͓͉͎̍̊ ̴̲̽̋͘l̴̛͚̦͙̒i̷͍̥̾̆̇v̴̤̤̽͛é̶͚̤̿s̸̛̪͎̲̱̈́̕,̷͚̰̈͊̈́̿ ̷̥̦́ţ̸̨̢͍͌h̵̬̫̐͂ȩ̷̣͚̠͋̔̔ï̶̬͎̰̬̾r̴͉͗̂̉ ̴̧͉͖̦͋̆l̵͉̖͂̒̈́̃i̸̯͈̩̋͜t̵̐͜t̷̪̋̉̑̕l̶̟̝̼̇͂̽͝ȩ̴̖̤́͊͜ ̴̟̖̳͕͂͗̄s̵̬̖͔͓̈̐͝ẗ̶͕͙̤͔́̊͝͝r̸͕̞̳͘u̸͈̍g̶̗͕͛ĝ̷̻l̸͂̊̐̆͜e̷̢̹͍͝s̸̖̤̯͎̏?̵͖͚̓ ̶͚͙͕͈͆T̸̩̿̾͠ḧ̴͕́͠i̷̲̅s̵͚̅̕͝ͅ ̴̬͉̌̈́i̵͙̤̱͗̑͘s̵̝̩̬͍̃̇ ̴̲͔̱̹̐b̶͙̳̣̅͗̈́e̶͖̤͊̀t̷̫̂͐̃w̵̡̻̔͌̎͝é̶̩͉̘͓e̴̗̘͇͎̓͌n̴̗̍̎̀ ̸̝̤̉̃ḿ̴̪̮́͝͝é̶̢͊,̷̜͍͇̉ ̵̨̯͈̼̔̆̑̿ÿ̴̛͍̍̍ò̵̩͠͠ù̴͚̍̋,̸̩̑ ̵͇̞͕̻̒̋̾͗á̵̰̬̙̀ͅn̷̮͛̇̐d̶̥̙̭̥̂͌͐ ̵̧̜̞̙͒̊t̸͎͍̦̀̇̈ḧ̶͕͌e̷̘̪̼̓͆͝͝ ̵̢̙̟̆͐́͝Ä̷̭̺̬̈́n̵̲̠̍͛͠g̷̤̥͐e̴͈̋l̶̮͙͆̏̔͗ ̸̭̺̙̱̍̓̒͑o̴̧̗̯̮͘f̵̗̖̮̼̆̊̾ ̷̺̬̪͒̒̈́͝D̵͖͍̤̉͒̊e̵̝̐̓ą̷̭̻̔t̴͌ͅḣ̷͕͚̠.̴̢̙̓͘</b> </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>ψ̴̣̫̘͔͎͝͝ ̵̛͓͍̬͎̰̫̚̕⛥̴̢̢̿ ̷̛̘̦̪͔̓͐͗͛͐ͅ⛧̴͈̹̅̽̐̒ ̵͈͍̞̤̓̍ͅ.̸̩̎̊̈͑̐͘.̸̛̜͍͇͕̿̒̓͝.̵̣̤͔̔͌̐̆͘ ̶͇̳̑̃̆͘͘ ̸̙͈͔̼̀⛧̶͇̰̣̱̇͗͊̚ ̸̠̏̉͝͝⛧̵̜̺̞͈͍̐͒̈́̾͜</b>
  </p>
  <p><b>Y<strong>☠̵</strong>u ⛧̸́re n<strong>☠̵</strong>w l⛧̸́st<strong>☠̵</strong>nin⛧̸́: </b>Low Roar - Tonight, Tonight, Tonight</p>
  <p>
    <strong>ψ̴̣̫̘͔͎͝͝ ̵̛͓͍̬͎̰̫̚̕⛥̴̢̢̿ ̷̛̘̦̪͔̓͐͗͛͐ͅ⛧̴͈̹̅̽̐̒ ̵͈͍̞̤̓̍ͅ.̸̩̎̊̈͑̐͘.̸̛̜͍͇͕̿̒̓͝.̵̣̤͔̔͌̐̆͘ ̶͇̳̑̃̆͘͘ ̸̙͈͔̼̀⛧̶͇̰̣̱̇͗͊̚ ̸̠̏̉͝͝⛧̵̜̺̞͈͍̐͒̈́̾͜</strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>He kept staring ahead, lost in thought. Echoes of a faraway song resonated deep within his mind, but he couldn’t figure out the words. As soon as a piece of melody became apparent, and he reached out in his mind to grasp it, it was gone.</p><p>Until Arlen snapped his fingers right up his nose, making him jump.</p><p>“You alright, Mozz?” he asked, his brow furrowed. Morrissey blinked, and then smirked.</p><p>“I’m always alright,” he replied with a wink. A cheerful chime let them know Arlen’s like counter added a new one.</p><p>The elevator blared as they began their ascent - their newly repaired bike behind them. There was a new order for them, and Morrisey wondered who was throwing their name around in such a manner. If they kept going like this, they would be considered legendary Porters in no time. The perspective was amusing, no doubt about it.</p><p>"Say," he murmured, voice velvety as he turned to see Arlen. "What are you gonna do when we get to the timefall farm? They say they're developing a new beer."</p><p>Arlen grunted, checking his bracelet, not even glancing his way. Always cold, always distant. One of those humans who preferred the vast quietness, despite living in the biggest Knot City of the UCA. It took such a kind of man to be a Porter, anyway.</p><p>Morrissey wasn't such a man. But he understood his duty with humanity -and by extension, Bridges- anyway. He didn't have to like it, thought.</p><p>"We could have our own little party," Morrissey mumbled, grasping at his neck, where a dog tag with his name rested. "Have some drinks, listen to some music."</p><p>Only then Arlen looked at him, narrowing his eyes only slightly.</p><p>"Sure," he grumbled, lowering his eyes towards his own dog tag. Morrissey smirked. A little party at the end of the world.</p><p>Before the elevator reached the first floor, they tucked their dog tags under their gear.</p><p>“But if it isn’t the dream team themselves!” Matthias Hill’s hologram greeted them, a warm smile and even warmer words. “Glad to know we can still count on you. It’s been a rough week, I’m sure y’all can tell!”</p><p>“A fuckton of deliveries, that’s for sure,” Arlen muttered. Morrissey chuckled.</p><p>“What’s in it for us, Matt?” he asked.</p><p>“Well, if you manage to bring back the supplies, maybe I’ll bite the bullet and invite you both for some drinks,” the hologram said, pondering his chin. “Ya heard of the hot springs east of Lake Knot? I’ll sneak you a couple of cargo cases and we’ll have a day off. You can even bring the kid, Mozz!”</p><p>Morrissey chuckled once more, giving a couple of pats to the tank attached to his belly. Arlen looked away, as silent as ever.</p><p>“You’re on reception duty, though,” Morrissey pointed out. Matt waved his hand away dismissively.</p><p>“Corporate won’t be bitching at me if I want to stretch my legs for a bit,” he assured them. “It’s been a while since Bridges I already - they won’t have Bridges II at my door in a while more I presume.”</p><p>“Alright, alright, whatever,” Morrissey replied, shrugging. “You had us at beer, anyway.”</p><p>“That’s what I need to hear from ya!” Matt cheered, before clearing his throat and pointing at the terminal. “Now if you please…”</p><p>It was a standard supply run - metals and ceramics for the farm, to aid in building their famous timefall collectors. Some wild stuff, Morrissey presumed. For him, the timefall was nothing more than a nuisance.</p><p>“I’ll be waiting for my beer!” Matt said, waving a final goodbye as Morrissey and Arlen climbed on the bike.</p><p>Once they were out of Bridges’ ever-vigilant eye, Arlen stopped the bike to grab a cigarette, lighting it up. Morrissey grimaced.</p><p>“That shit will rot you from the inside,” he whined. Arlen threw a side glance at him.</p><p>“And the rain will rot me from the outside,” he rationalized, exhaling smoke as he spoke. “What’s the difference?”</p><p>“The difference is,” Morrissey uttered, leaning forward and speaking at Arlen’s ear. “I can’t control the tar <em> inside </em> your lungs, dear.”</p><p>He grabbed the cigarette, throwing it away with a disgusted grimace. Arlen frowned at him.</p><p>“What the fuck, Mozz.”</p><p>“Just go. And don’t forget about your little blessing.”</p><p>After a brief glance at each other, they held onto the hose in their equipment. Arlen grabbed a case from his backpack, opening up to reveal a second tank - a twin from the tank that Morissey now held onto. Without another word, they connected to their tanks in sync. A slight nausea, a grunt and a gag later, Morrissey chuckled under his breath, as their Bridges Babies became animated and twirled inside their tanks.</p><p>“It never gets easier, does it?” Morrissey murmured. Arlen shrugged.</p><p>The BBs recognized each other through their tanks, making tiny noises of acknowledgement and contempt, and reaching out to the other with giggles and twirls. Another chime, and more likes added to both Arlen and Morrissey’s count.</p><p>“Someone’s happy,” Arlen mumbled, looking down at his BB. “You like your partner, huh?”</p><p>“They have the right idea,” Morrissey replied, eyes fixed on Arlen’s face.</p><p>He turned to glance at him over his shoulder, one eyebrow up, as Morrissey raised both of his brows at him. Once again, the chime rang.</p><p>“You’re awfully lovey-dovey today,” Arlen observed. Morrissey blinked at him.</p><p>“Can’t I be happy to see you?”</p><p>“Don’t fuck with me.”</p><p>“Alright, fine, it’s…” Morrissey chuckled, rubbing the tank as his BB glanced up at him, curious. “It’s nothing, I’m sure.”</p><p>“You being so eager to leave Middle Knot isn’t ‘nothing’,” Arlen pointed out, grabbing a second cigarette. Morrissey sighed.</p><p>“Okay, so… they called me up to Corporate this morning, right?” he explained.</p><p>“Hmm?” Arlen grunted, once again throwing him a glance over his shoulder.</p><p>“They said it was important, or whatever. That it concerned me, specifically,” Morrissey shrugged. “You know. Dooms stuff.”</p><p>“So you can’t tell me specifics, I assume,” Arlen grumbled. Morrissey snorted.</p><p>“Please, dear, I got a fucking Bridges Baby for you. What I know, you know.” A pause, as Arlen exhaled the smoke towards the cloudy sky. “They told me to be careful.”</p><p>“Careful? You?” Arlen frowned. “From what?”</p><p>“These terrorist shitheads are stirring up trouble, and they’re recruiting in cities and shit,” Morrissey explained, eyes half-closed, remembering. “They’re targeting specific people it seems.”</p><p>Another pause. Arlen smoked in silence, making rings towards his tank, as his BB tried to catch them with his tiny hands.</p><p>“They’re looking for people with Dooms,” Morrissey explained. “And - you wanna know something funny?”</p><p>“Hmm?” Arlen asked, once again looking over his shoulder. Morrissey chuckled.</p><p>“When I was going back to the private room, I felt like - a compulsion,” he recalled, glancing at his hands. Gloved hands, capable of so much. Capable of miracles. “Like I needed to look around. To find something. And-...”</p><p>“And?” Arlen asked, taking his cigarette from his lips, frowning,</p><p>“And then I looked around, and there were th⛧̸́se guys on an ⛧̸́lley,” Morriss⛧̸́y said, still ch⛧̸́ckling. “They were st⛧̸́ring at me, as ⛧̸́f they kn⛧̸́w me. I co⛧̸́ldn’t see th⛧̸́ir faces - th⛧̸́y were ⛧̸́ll c⛧̸́vered a⛧̸́d shit. An⛧̸́ y⛧̸́u kn⛧̸́w wh⛧̸́t’s th⛧̸́ w⛧̸́⛧̸́rdest p⛧̸́rt? On⛧̸́ of th⛧̸́m st⛧̸́ck out h⛧̸́s hand, p⛧̸́t a f⛧̸́ng⛧̸́r to h⛧̸́s l⛧̸́ps, an⛧̸́ h⛧̸́shed ⛧̸́t me. A⛧̸́n’t th⛧̸́t w⛧̸́ird?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. 011</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The- the timelines are crossing</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>D̷e̴l☠̵i̷v̷e̵r̵y̷ ̴l̵☠̵g̵ ̸☠̵11</strong>
  </p>
  <p><b>Subject:</b> The Capital Knot Incident</p>
  <p><b>Porters:</b> Naoise Porter - Bridges | Arlen - Independent Contractor</p>
  <p><b>Cargo status:</b> 50% package damage, 0% cargo damage. Delivery pending.</p>
  <p>
    <em> <b>W̷̦a̶̺͋r̴̭̀n̶͓̈́i̴̤n̴̖͂g̶͙̈:̷̳̈́  d<strong>☠̵</strong>ta c<strong>☠̵</strong>orrupti<strong>☠̵</strong>n at 5<strong>☠̵</strong>%. T<strong>☠̵</strong>mp<strong>☠̵</strong>ring s<strong>☠̵</strong>spec<strong>☠̵</strong><strong>☠̵</strong>d. L<strong>☠̵</strong>gs mig<strong>☠̵</strong>t app<strong>☠̵</strong>ar o<strong>☠̵</strong>t of o<strong>☠̵</strong>der.</b> </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Arlen's voice was deep, kind of hypnotic, Naoise thought. He seemed not to notice he was humming a song as he smoked, still contemplating the rain, lost in thought. Memories, perhaps. Of a better time.</p><p>He vaguely thought about asking him about it. About the song. He wanted to listen to it again, someday. The sound of the rain would've been soothing, if not for the inherent danger it posed for all life on earth.</p><p>Maybe in another time, in another place, their story would've been different. He found Arlen's stoic calm soothing, despite their circumstances. Despite his effort to act tough, there was something about him. A compassion lacking of big gestures. A rough sort of tenderness - the kind a pure heart feels forced to obey despite the pain and the loss.</p><p>Something about Arlen warmed him despite the drop in temperature. Even as his breath raised as steam in front of him. And the darkness of the cavern growing deeper… </p><p>His eyes snapped towards the entrance of the cave.</p><p>"Arlen," he whispered. "Go grab your BB."</p><p>Arlen glanced at him over the smoke of his cigarette, raising a brow his way.</p><p>"That thing?" he mumbled. Naoise's breathing hinged.</p><p>"They're here," he urged him, pointing at the rain. "They're coming. The Beached Things."</p><p>Arlen's face changed from a bored disinterest to a strangely intense seriousness, as he stood up and discarded the cigarette. Quickly, he connected to his BB, closing his eyes and stumbling backwards.</p><p>"Arlen?" Naoise mumbled, stepping towards him. Arlen waved, shaking his head.</p><p>"I'm fine," he grunted, supporting his weight on the wall. "Keep it down, don't move if you don't have to."</p><p>His four-tipped odradek lit up, flapping towards the entrance. Naoise shuddered, and tried to ignore it as he glanced towards the rain as well.</p><p>Dark shadows lay silent outside. Floating, aimlessly waving in the wind. They seemed indifferent towards them, but Naoise had heard enough horror stories about BTs to know better. He kept still, despite feeling the trembling on his hands spreading around his body.</p><p>He knew how they looked, of course. He had seen them before. But still, it was in the nature of a BT to be so completely alien, so utterly wrong. Familiar shapes, corrupted beyond recognition. The true horror of the human shape, distorted and twisted.</p><p>Lightning struck somewhere up the mountains, and the light revealed a figure - closer than the others. Naoise gasped and took a step backwards, as Arlen cursed under his breath. Thick, black tar splattered as the being walked inside the cave, and Naoise glanced at Arlen who, simply, covered his nose and mouth without breaking eye contact.</p><p>Naoise nodded, holding his breath and moving backwards, step by step. The odradek flapped faster, aking to the beating of his heart. BB whined softly, as time stood still, and the BT seemed frozen in place. Thinking.</p><p>Another lightning strike revealed the desolate background, where grass grew and died in an endless cycle. And a figure stood there immobile - a corporeal, more substantial figure, standing in the middle of an ocean of death.</p><p>Arlen's odradek lit up, turning in extreme distress, pointing at the figure, ignoring the BTs around it. Naoise felt his lungs scream inside of him, yearning for air. And the figure pointed up to the crying skies - a flare igniting his figure, going up, defying the rain that poured, black and corrupted.</p><p>The light blinded them for a brief moment. Then, the sun broke through the cave entrance - the day suddenly bright.</p><p>Naoise gasped for air, dropping to his knees. He heard Arlen walking towards the now empty entrance, silent as one of the shadows. His odradek seemed confused, turning around, looking for something.</p><p>"We have to leave," he muttered. Naoise glanced at his back.</p><p>"What was that?" he asked. Arlen shot him a glance, and Naoise was taken aback by the urgency in his eyes.</p><p>"We have to leave, now," he ordered. Naoise swallowed a lump.</p><p>"So much for me having something to hide, huh?" he pointed out, and Arlen groaned.</p><p>"Fuck off, Bridges," he sneered, gearing up once more. "You coming?"</p><p>After a brief pause, Naoise noticed something else. The wild, terrified eagerness in Arlen's gestures was evident - and allarming. But there was something else. The Bridges Baby was still connected, looking around confused, searching.</p><p>"Alright," Naoise mumbled. Arlen nodded, climbing back onto the bike, with his load already on his back.</p><p>Once the cargo was secured, Arlen drove outside once again. And as they ran, Naoise pondered about the dark figure outside the cave. How it stood in the middle of the timefall, how it seemed to control BTs at will. And how, in a strange way, he felt compelled to call out to it. To answer to some primal, urgent call.</p><p>The figure outside was but a twisted reflection of himself, he caught himself thinking. How he would look, reflected on a drop of rain.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. ???</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>Delivery log </b>
    <strong>⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́</strong>
  </p>
  <p><b>Subject:</b> ⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́ ⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́ ⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́ ⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́</p>
  <p><b>Porters:</b> M⛧̸́rrissey Port⛧̸́r - Br⛧̸́dges | Arlen - Independent Contractor</p>
  <p><b>Cargo status:</b> ⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́% package damage, ⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́% cargo damage. Order lost.</p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <b>W̵̢͇̘̫͚͗̂⛧̸́r̶̜̙̂͌n̶̥̫̝͙̣͂͆̈́i̸̙̭̕n̵̥͑͑̒̌̕ģ̶͈̗̎:̸͙̫̠̻̼͂͐̔̕ d̷̨͇̂̓̒⛧̶̸̴̸̥̦̱̱̻̋̈́̓́ͅt̴̯̤͈̾͛ä̶̟̰́̈̈́̌͌ ̴̥̤̓͊c̶̨̛̮̣̉̈́̾̆͜⛧̵r̵̫͓̝̟̿̊̀̈̍r̸̝̘̔́̍u̶͖̳̎͝⛧̶̸̴̡̛̞̇̎͐̈́ͅȉ̶̜͚̱̳̮̑̈́o̶̡̡̙̝͖̽͝n̴̛̪͉͎͌̑̃ ̵̟̞̹̠̀͜ȁ̶̢͎̮̈ț̵̄̿̆ ̸̰̯̞̤̺͒̾̄̋1̵̘̟͚͊͑̔̊̔0̷̣̲̎̎͂͆̚0̸̡͚̃̈́͗͑%̴̪͙͍̄̃.̷̤̮̅ ̶̟͒̄̅̅̈́T̴͇͍̥͒̄͑̇⛧̸m̶̫̭̲̦͈̈́͋͛̚⛧̸̾⛧̵̸̷̻̣̅r̶͙̦̺̍̇̿̑̌ḯ̶̥̃n̵̖͓͍̚ḡ̷̳̳̽̍ͅ ̶̡̗͇͊̀s̷͖̰̤͉͆͌̂ͅ⛧̸̸̴̨̭̦̒s̴̨̫̣̈͒p̸̫͕͈̼̀̑̎̂̉ͅe̸͎͇̝͍̊͑͋̽͛c̷̡̧͓̅̔̓̾⛧̶̀e̶̟̺͇̔̐̇̔͝⛧̶̽.̸͓̬̳̹͕͌̂͌̄ L̵̠͍͔̮̟̈̉̑̅̆̏͐̉̈́͘⛧̸⛧̵s̷͉̫̭͚̺̎̆ ̴̡͉͖̾͑͑̎̐̉͆͑̈́͆͑͝m̵̨̧̥͎̻̞̗̻̭̘̀̍̒̊̈́̐̈̐̚͜ͅ⛧̵̛̔̒̆g̸̹̗̺̥͙͈̬̃̈́͋͛̉̀̆͌̂͘͝h̴̳̏͑̂̽̐̓̎t̵̥̻̭̜̥̤̻̮̾͋̅͜͜ ̵̬̦̪̪̭̬̳̃͜a̸̡̬̫̽̒̉̄͌̓̓̽̇̃̌͌⛧̴⛧̵e̴͈̝͋̄ä̸̛͕̤͇͓̹̹̣̦̬̬̰́͗̅̅̈́⛧̸̈́ ̶̘̪͈͚̝͉̰̎̂̾͛͜o̶͖̮̮̓͋̄⛧̸̇̾⛧̷ ̴̫͐̋̎͊ǫ̵̩̬̲̝̝̣̯̱͗̈́͑͜͝f̷̰̰̃̆̑̈́̒̏ͅ ̸̦͐̄́̌̕͝ö̷͚́̓̒̒̉͝⛧̴̛̓ď̷͓̼̯̌͑̊⛧̸r̸̨̖̰̍̄̈́̊̈́̕͜.̶̭̰͖̙̻̞́̎̎͆̈́̆͗͛͘</b>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>ψ̴̣̫̘͔͎͝͝ ̵̛͓͍̬͎̰̫̚̕⛥̴̢̢̿ ̷̛̘̦̪͔̓͐͗͛͐ͅ⛧̴͈̹̅̽̐̒ ̵͈͍̞̤̓̍ͅ.̸̩̎̊̈͑̐͘.̸̛̜͍͇͕̿̒̓͝.̵̣̤͔̔͌̐̆͘ ̶͇̳̑̃̆͘͘ ̸̙͈͔̼̀⛧̶͇̰̣̱̇͗͊̚ ̸̠̏̉͝͝⛧̵̜̺̞͈͍̐͒̈́̾͜</b>
  </p>
  <p><b>Y<strong>☠̵</strong>u ⛧̸́re n<strong>☠̵</strong>w l⛧̸́st<strong>☠̵</strong>nin⛧̸́: </b>Low Roar - Poznan</p>
  <p>
    <strong>ψ̴̣̫̘͔͎͝͝ ̵̛͓͍̬͎̰̫̚̕⛥̴̢̢̿ ̷̛̘̦̪͔̓͐͗͛͐ͅ⛧̴͈̹̅̽̐̒ ̵͈͍̞̤̓̍ͅ.̸̩̎̊̈͑̐͘.̸̛̜͍͇͕̿̒̓͝.̵̣̤͔̔͌̐̆͘ ̶͇̳̑̃̆͘͘ ̸̙͈͔̼̀⛧̶͇̰̣̱̇͗͊̚ ̸̠̏̉͝͝⛧̵̜̺̞͈͍̐͒̈́̾͜</strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>They were so close. So, so close.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were driving back - that much was true. Morrissey enjoyed the wind on his hair well enough. Feeling the smell of freshly fallen rain. Feeling the smell on Arlen's neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were close. The silhouette of Middle Knot City stood by. The doorway that had seen them go in and out so many times. The hill where Arlen smoked his cigarette.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were talking, too. About something over the wind. About beer, maybe, and the promised hot springs day. About something unimportant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, the light. Blinding light, made Arlen look away, stopping the bike in a hurry. The smoke raised from the City, and it took Morrissey a second to realize what was coming for them. Directly at them. Prowling over the flatlands, like a predator eager for blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was nothing left behind its wake. Arlen cursed, grabbing the bike's handle, as the BBs, feeling their unsease, started crying. They weren't going to make it. They weren't going to make it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Morrissey hugged Arlen's waist, and closed his eyes as he forced a jump.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They landed on a nearby cliff, where a timefall drizzle propped their hoods up. In front of them, the blast left nothing but a crater behind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Morrissey fell on his hands and knees, trembling. The BBs cried, scared, confused. Arlen contemplated the scenery as the dust settled unable to force his eyes away from the destruction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Holy shit," he mumbled. And there was nothing left to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The streets they used to roam, the rooms they used to rest on. The music, the boardgames, the beer, the cards. The people. The distribution center guys who waved when they passed by. The families, trying to grow something in a land where nothing ever grew. Matthew, with his love of beer and food. All gone. All dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arlen tried to light up a cigarette, but his hands trembled too much, and the matches became wet, and brittle, and rotted away in his hands. Morrissey glanced at the pieces before they vanished. Suddenly, quietly, without drama, without kicking and screaming into that silent goodnight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thought he could see them. Minding their own business - humans as they were. Tinkering in workshops and playing inside their home and rediscovering love in such a horrible place. Then the light lit up the golden twilight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Had they screamed as their lives came to an end? Had they realized the horror of what was to come? Had they been sad, in pain, trying to claw their way out? As buildings molt and turned to dust, as the little potted plants they tried to cultivate withered and ignited, as all they had known crashed and burned and crushed and killed… Had they glanced up towards the empty sky, asking why until their throats bleed?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, the silence. The deafening silence, as they all died. Morrissey trembled on the floor, his hands turning to fists. They all lived and died and hurt and withered - and for what. In one fell swoop, everything was gone. All the cheerfulness, the hope, the future.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He saw his own, gloved hands. Capable of miracles, as the sun set and the darkness reigned over the light. What were they good for now? What was </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>good for now?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arlen saw him, and tried to stop him, but it was too late. He passed his wet, gloved hands for his hair. Fresh, fallen timefall, still not quite normal water. The chiralium found its way to his auburn hair, quelching the fire, consuming its color, until two white streaks wounded its armony.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then, he stopped. Morrissey blinked, eyes raising up from the dirt, up towards what was left of Middle Knot. He felt Arlen's eyes on him, questioning, but what could he know? What could a mere human, blind to everything outside what was touchable and measurable, could know?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hundred of thousands of hands raising up to the sky. Not condemning, but reaching. Not yearning for release, but free. All this time, he hadn't realized… He hadn't seen… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mozz?" Arlen called. He was worried, despite his usual stoicism. Morrissey smiled to himself, a tender feeling nesting on his chest. He looked down at his BB, who slowly stopped crying, pouting at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without a word, he blinked away. Arlen cursed and stepped back, his BB whining as the odradek scanned the land. Looking for them. Unable to see them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mozz," Arlen called, but he knew it was in vain. The drizzle turned to rain, and the rain poured, black and merciless, as the clouds swallowed the moon.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. 013</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>Delivery log 013</b>
  </p>
  <p><b>Subject:</b> The Capital Knot Incident</p>
  <p><b>Porters:</b> Naoise Porter - Bridges | Arlen - Independent Contractor</p>
  <p><b>Cargo status:</b> 50% package damage, 0% cargo damage. Delivery pending.</p>
  <p>
    <em> <b>Warning: data corruption at 30%. Tampering suspected. Logs might appear out of order.</b> </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Once again, there was silence on the mountain. Silence, and the electric roar of the bike under them. Naoise, hands clinging to Arlen's cargo behind him, tried not to think too hard about it. About the trip ahead, and the incident in the cave.</p><p>The dark silhouette haunted his thoughts, a persistent pull at the back of his mind. Thinking of it seemed inevitable - like a river flows to the sea.</p><p>Arlen jumped a ledge, and his BB giggled when they landed. A strange thing, that BB. They seemed way more active now, very different from the slow, clumsy movements from before. What had gotten into them? Was Arlen's adrenaline enough to make them suddenly animate again, after such a long time kept disconnected?</p><p>His thoughts, however, were suddenly interrupted when he saw a Bridges' station up ahead. He couldn't help to smile with a sigh of relief. They should rest up - leave the cargo in good, capable hands. Stock up in supplies, maybe; he was missing some good repair spray for their cases after the timefall, not to mention a shower to get rid of the chiralium buildup.</p><p>Not to mention, maybe he could coerce Arlen to open up a bit. To explain whatever the hell he had seen in the cave. After a steamy shower, he had found, people were much more receptive for a good, difficult talk.</p><p>But Arlen turned the handle, and they sped past the station without even a glance. Naoise protested, hitting his cargo to make him stop.</p><p>"What are you doing?!" he yelled over the wind and the purring of the bike. "We could've rested there!"</p><p>Arlen kept on driving, oblivious, or pretending to be. Naoise grunted, looking around for something to make him stop.</p><p>"Fuck!" Arlen yelled, when Naoise kicked him on the heel. He stopped suddenly, throwing him a glare as Naoise hit his forehead on the cargo. "What the fuck do you want?!"</p><p>"What do you think you're doing?" Naoise complained, accommodating his Bridges' hat, crooked because of the impact. "We could've stopped there!"</p><p>Arlen let a heavy silence drop before answering.</p><p>"No," he said, eyes up front again. "We can't."</p><p>"Why not?" Naoise huffed. Arlen bit his lower lip.</p><p>"The less you know, the better. But," he caught Naoise. "We're being followed."</p><p>Naoise blinked, turning behind, surveying the scene. But nothing of note seemed to disturb the quiet, beautifully melancholic scenery. The mountain raised, majestic, behind the Bridges' outpost - black clouds and an inverted rainbow crowing its silhouette.</p><p>He shuddered, and shook his head before turning back towards Arlen.</p><p>"By who?" he asked, in a conspiratorial murmur. "MULEs?"</p><p>Arlen huffed, with bitter humor.</p><p>"I wish it was MULEs," he mumbled in response.</p><p>Naoise blinked. Then, he took a deep breath.</p><p>"That's a Homo Demens," he stated. It wasn't a question. "The person we saw, under the rain."</p><p>Arlen didn't answer, hands clenching around the bike's handle.</p><p>"We gotta keep going," he said. Naoise didn't question it again.</p><p>As they flew down the mountain, evading rock formations and facing the rain, Naoise felt the horror sinking in. How the figure stood in the middle of the BTs. How it raised a hand, and the timefall was gone. How he felt the push of something deeper within himself - the pull of his gift, both dread and comfort at the same time.</p><p>He had never known anyone with Dooms before, aside from himself. He had kept quiet; his gifts, a secret to conceal. To keep himself out of indiscreet eyes. To keep everyone from coming for him.</p><p>But he knew, like a predator knows another predator, that the figure knew as well. And it was coming for them - circling around them, waiting for the moment to pounce.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. ???</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The last glance at the past. It's a race to the end from here.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>Delivery log </b> <strong>⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́</strong></p>
  <p><b>Subject:</b> ⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́ ⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́ ⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́ ⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́</p>
  <p><b>Porters:</b> M⛧̸́rrissey Port⛧̸́r - Br⛧̸́dges | Arlen - Independent Contractor</p>
  <p><b>Cargo status:</b> ⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́% package damage, ⛧̸́⛧̸́⛧̸́% cargo damage. Order lost.</p>
  <p>
    <em> <b>W̵̢͇̘̫͚͗̂⛧̸́r̶̜̙̂͌n̶̥̫̝͙̣͂͆̈́i̸̙̭̕n̵̥͑͑̒̌̕ģ̶͈̗̎:̸͙̫̠̻̼͂͐̔̕ d̷̨͇̂̓̒⛧̶̸̴̸̥̦̱̱̻̋̈́̓́ͅt̴̯̤͈̾͛ä̶̟̰́̈̈́̌͌ ̴̥̤̓͊c̶̨̛̮̣̉̈́̾̆͜⛧̵r̵̫͓̝̟̿̊̀̈̍r̸̝̘̔́̍u̶͖̳̎͝⛧̶̸̴̡̛̞̇̎͐̈́ͅȉ̶̜͚̱̳̮̑̈́o̶̡̡̙̝͖̽͝n̴̛̪͉͎͌̑̃ ̵̟̞̹̠̀͜ȁ̶̢͎̮̈ț̵̄̿̆ ̸̰̯̞̤̺͒̾̄̋1̵̘̟͚͊͑̔̊̔0̷̣̲̎̎͂͆̚0̸̡͚̃̈́͗͑%̴̪͙͍̄̃.̷̤̮̅ ̶̟͒̄̅̅̈́T̴͇͍̥͒̄͑̇⛧̸m̶̫̭̲̦͈̈́͋͛̚⛧̸̾⛧̵̸̷̻̣̅r̶͙̦̺̍̇̿̑̌ḯ̶̥̃n̵̖͓͍̚ḡ̷̳̳̽̍ͅ ̶̡̗͇͊̀s̷͖̰̤͉͆͌̂ͅ⛧̸̸̴̨̭̦̒s̴̨̫̣̈͒p̸̫͕͈̼̀̑̎̂̉ͅe̸͎͇̝͍̊͑͋̽͛c̷̡̧͓̅̔̓̾⛧̶̀e̶̟̺͇̔̐̇̔͝⛧̶̽.̸͓̬̳̹͕͌̂͌̄ L̵̠͍͔̮̟̈̉̑̅̆̏͐̉̈́͘⛧̸⛧̵s̷͉̫̭͚̺̎̆ ̴̡͉͖̾͑͑̎̐̉͆͑̈́͆͑͝m̵̨̧̥͎̻̞̗̻̭̘̀̍̒̊̈́̐̈̐̚͜ͅ⛧̵̛̔̒̆g̸̹̗̺̥͙͈̬̃̈́͋͛̉̀̆͌̂͘͝h̴̳̏͑̂̽̐̓̎t̵̥̻̭̜̥̤̻̮̾͋̅͜͜ ̵̬̦̪̪̭̬̳̃͜a̸̡̬̫̽̒̉̄͌̓̓̽̇̃̌͌⛧̴⛧̵e̴͈̝͋̄ä̸̛͕̤͇͓̹̹̣̦̬̬̰́͗̅̅̈́⛧̸̈́ ̶̘̪͈͚̝͉̰̎̂̾͛͜o̶͖̮̮̓͋̄⛧̸̇̾⛧̷ ̴̫͐̋̎͊ǫ̵̩̬̲̝̝̣̯̱͗̈́͑͜͝f̷̰̰̃̆̑̈́̒̏ͅ ̸̦͐̄́̌̕͝ö̷͚́̓̒̒̉͝⛧̴̛̓ď̷͓̼̯̌͑̊⛧̸r̸̨̖̰̍̄̈́̊̈́̕͜.̶̭̰͖̙̻̞́̎̎͆̈́̆͗͛͘ </b></em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>ψ̴̣̫̘͔͎͝͝ ̵̛͓͍̬͎̰̫̚̕⛥̴̢̢̿ ̷̛̘̦̪͔̓͐͗͛͐ͅ⛧̴͈̹̅̽̐̒ ̵͈͍̞̤̓̍ͅ.̸̩̎̊̈͑̐͘.̸̛̜͍͇͕̿̒̓͝.̵̣̤͔̔͌̐̆͘ ̶͇̳̑̃̆͘͘ ̸̙͈͔̼̀⛧̶͇̰̣̱̇͗͊̚ ̸̠̏̉͝͝⛧̵̜̺̞͈͍̐͒̈́̾͜</b>
  </p>
  <p><b>Y<strong>☠̵</strong>u ⛧̸́re n<strong>☠̵</strong>w l⛧̸́st<strong>☠̵</strong>nin⛧̸́: </b>Low Roar - Patience</p>
  <p>
    <strong>ψ̴̣̫̘͔͎͝͝ ̵̛͓͍̬͎̰̫̚̕⛥̴̢̢̿ ̷̛̘̦̪͔̓͐͗͛͐ͅ⛧̴͈̹̅̽̐̒ ̵͈͍̞̤̓̍ͅ.̸̩̎̊̈͑̐͘.̸̛̜͍͇͕̿̒̓͝.̵̣̤͔̔͌̐̆͘ ̶͇̳̑̃̆͘͘ ̸̙͈͔̼̀⛧̶͇̰̣̱̇͗͊̚ ̸̠̏̉͝͝⛧̵̜̺̞͈͍̐͒̈́̾͜</strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Arlen stepped out of the shower, and the emptiness of the private room made him pause. The silence, the quietness, the peace felt fake. A mirage.</p><p>He adjusted his belt, walking towards the mirror on top of the sink. The frosted glass gave way to his tired visage - eyes low, dead, soulless. Lost packages, lost lives, lost purpose. All in a blessed blast.</p><p>His BB was plugged, deep in uneasy dreams, as he whined and moved inside his tank. For once, nobody had come to bother him for it. And, for once, he didn't have Morrissey to cover for him.</p><p>He wasn't allowed to smoke inside his private room, but his brain craved some sort of enjoyment after all the horrors. He seemed so defeated. So lost, in the mirror.</p><p>Twelve hours and counting between questionings and porting relief aid all over the city. He had seen a lot of refugees now. A lot of dying and soon-to-be dead. They had, however, spared him from going to the incinerator. They were more interested in the questioning part. <em> Where were you? What did you see? Do you know something about it? </em></p><p>A fucking nuke had gone off. A nuke, delivered by Fragile Express. The images of the burnt, rapidly deteriorating victims filled his mind, at the brink of overstimulation. He passed a hand through his head, closing his eyes, trying to clear his mind.</p><p>A blast of light, and the roar of reality itself bending and twisting around a familiar silhouette. Arlen turned, and a sigh of relief escaped his lips.</p><p>"Holy shit, Mozz," he muttered, stepping towards him. But he stopped dead on his tracks, shocked.</p><p>The man he knew so well, the one with which he had shared duty and time off, stood in front of him, but something was off. For instance, he was covered from head to toe in tar - dripping from his hair, where two white streaks scarred each side of it, to his boots. The Bridges patch was barely visible under it, and the blue of his uniform seemed deeper, richer under the black, thick substance. Hand imprints plagued whatever clean patch was left, and his eyes seemed brighter, bloodshot in the middle of the tar.</p><p>"Need a shower?" Arlen muttered, taking a step back. "What happened?"</p><p>Morrissey blinked.</p><p>"Met some BTs on the way," he mumbled. "But I'm fine. I'm always fine."</p><p>Arlen frowned. Encounters with BTs never not went Morrissey's way. He didn't get his powers - those Dooms or whatever the hell, but he had seen them enough times in action to never doubt their effectiveness.</p><p>He lowered his shoulders, raising a hand to put it in Morrissey's, but lowering it quietly.</p><p>"I'm gonna sleep," he sighed, turning once more towards the mirror. "Take a shower if you want."</p><p>In the reflection, he noticed Morrissey didn't move, observing him with strange, bright eyes in the darkness. He seemed like a black hole, absorbing the light around him, drawing the eye in a hypnotic haze. He seemed darker than usual - some brightness gone from his eyes, perhaps. Or something else, more tangible, more obvious but invisible in its absence.</p><p>The more he examined Morrissey's reflection, the more unseasy he felt. What else was there to see? Or rather… <em> what was missing?  </em></p><p>Arlen opened his eyes wide, suddenly tense. BB started whining, as Morrissey's tank reacted to the sound. But no yellow light came from within it - rather a red light gave the scene a strange, unnatural glow.</p><p>Before he could turn, Morrissey jumped at his back, strand in hand, cord at his neck, pulling backwards. Arlen arched backwards, clawing at the cord, feeling the air escaping him. He groaned, arching onto himself, trying desperately to breathe. But Morrissey kept pulling, as BB cried, as the light on Morrissey's tank glowed brighter, as the room seemed to spin and bend around them.</p><p>Arlen felt his knees buckling, panicked, but he managed to throw an arm backwards, trying to pull Morrissey over his shoulder. He grabbed something, dangling and hard, and pulled until he felt it snap. Morrissey grunted, and arched himself away from him, pulling the strand with him.</p><p>He had thought about his death. He imagined BTs, tar on his lungs, a voidout. The inevitable consequences of humanity's hubris - to think he could survive. But as the world became blurry, and Morrissey's grunts echoed on his ears, Arlen felt the impotence as he stumbled backwards. Why now? Why him?</p><p>Morrissey huffed when his back impacted the room's equipment shelves. Was that how it would end? Betrayed, alone, with BB's cries ringing on his ears?</p><p>Arlen clenched his teeth, attempting one last move as the air left him. And he used his legs to squish Morrissey between his back and the wall, hearing him grunt again.</p><p>He did it again - stronger this time. And again, as Morrissey's grunts became cries of pain. And he did so again, and again, and again - not for life, for there wasn't a life he wanted now. But out of the sheer, desperate, human desire not to die.</p><p>One more hit, and Arlen heard the glass creak. One more hit, and it shattered on his back, making them fall backwards as his own equipment fell on him. The soft, mellow, white light of the room turned red, as an alarm rang through the facility - through Lake Knot City.</p><p>Arlen escaped Morrissey's grasp, standing up between broken glass and the intolerable blaring of the alarm and BB's cries ringing in his ears, and he stumbled, coughing and weezing, towards the bed. Morrissey stood up as well, strand once again on hand, and a crazed smile on his lips.</p><p>The heavy steps of boots outside the door barely made them react. The door slid open, and armed guards ran inside, pointing their guns at them.</p><p>Morrissey glanced at them, panting and surrounded by broken glass, and then slowly panned towards Arlen - a joyless grin tensing his lips.</p><p>"We'll meet again, darling," he uttered. "On the Beach."</p><p>A sudden light blinded Arlen, as he tried to grasp Morrissey, before his partner was gone.</p><p>“What the hell is going on?!” William Lake interjected, entering the room and glancing around. Arlen shook his head, unable to speak. “You okay?”</p><p>Arlen heaved, covering his ears and closing his eyes. The alarm, the cries, the guns, Morrissey; finally over the edge, he cowered as the noise became unbearable, surrounding him, engulfing him. Vaguely he heard Lake’s orders: <em> “Turn that shit off!” </em> , and his attempts at reaching him: <em> “You’re Arlen, right? Legendary Porter.” </em> The scene became blurry, vague, distant. <em> “He survived Middle Knot - give him some space, dammit!” </em> And then faded to a dark, soft melancholy. <em> “It’s over, pal. You’re safe now.” </em></p><p>He knew that was a lie. He opened his eyes - everyone was gone, except William Lake. He was staring at BB, frowning as if in the presence of a particularly hard riddle.</p><p>“I bet you have one hell of a story for this little lad,” he pointed out. Arlen didn’t answer - still breathing heavily. “But that’s not my lane. We’ll talk this over when we talk this over, alright?”</p><p>He directed a crooked smile at Arlen, before leaving him in his darkened room. Outside, Arlen heard the steps and the orders - they were custodying him. Watching. Ready to act if anything else happened.</p><p>Only then he noticed something hard on his hand - burying into his palm as he clenched his fist.</p><p>When he looked down, opening up his fist, he found Morrissey’s dog tag. The chain was broken, but the tag was intact - a memento of a happier, simpler time.</p><p>
  <strong>Ĩ̵̥͕'̴̩̐͒m̸̧̘̫̹͎̉ ̷̧̪̰͚͂̓͘̕ċ̴̜͋͘ô̶͔̦͔͋̋̑̆m̷̧̫̲̦̮̃̊̀i̴̳̼̬͓͉̔̓̋̐n̴̛̙̿̔͒ġ̶̗̪̎ ̷̹̞̙͇̑̄̆͝h̴̢̹͇͔͂ͅȏ̶͙̫̮̺̏m̶̫̠͍͋̓͜͝e̸̜̬̓̓̈̈́,̷̢̨̦̼̭͐̿̋ ̸̢͐̀͜ţ̸͛̊̊o̶͖̣͉̕ ̵̧̰̙̗͌̔̍̅̒y̶̧̗͖̋͒̊͋o̵̜̼̙̜̯͑͗̔ǔ̴͎͚̈́.̸͎̗̫͐ </strong>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. 015</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A final battle. A quirk of speech. And another secret.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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    <strong>D̷e̴l☠̵i̷v̷e̵r̵y̷ ̴l̵☠̵g̵ ̸☠̵015</strong>
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  <p><b>Subject:</b> The C☠̵pital Knot I☠̵cident</p>
  <p><b>Porters:</b> Naoise Porter - Bridges | A☠̵len - I☠̵depen☠̵ent C☠̵ntra☠̵☠̵or</p>
  <p><b>Cargo status:</b> 50% package damage, 0% cargo damage. Delivery pending.</p>
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    <em> <b>W̷̦a̶̺͋r̴̭̀n̶͓̈́i̴̤n̴̖͂g̶͙̈:̷̳̈́  d<strong>☠̵</strong>ta co<strong>☠̵</strong>ru<strong>☠̵☠̵</strong>io<strong>☠̵</strong> at 6<strong>☠̵</strong>%. Ta<strong>☠̵</strong>peri<strong>☠̵☠̵</strong> sus<strong>☠̵</strong>ecte<strong>☠̵</strong>. L<strong>☠̵</strong>gs might ap<strong>☠̵</strong>ea<strong>☠̵</strong> <strong>☠̵</strong>ut o<strong>☠̵</strong> or<strong>☠̵</strong><strong>☠̵</strong>r.</b> </em>
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    <em> <b>ψ̴̣̫̘͔͎͝͝ ̵̛͓͍̬͎̰̫̚̕⛥̴̢̢̿ ̷̛̘̦̪͔̓͐͗͛͐ͅ⛧̴͈̹̅̽̐̒ ̵͈͍̞̤̓̍ͅ.̸̩̎̊̈͑̐͘.̸̛̜͍͇͕̿̒̓͝.̵̣̤͔̔͌̐̆͘ ̶͇̳̑̃̆͘͘ ̸̙͈͔̼̀⛧̶͇̰̣̱̇͗͊̚ ̸̠̏̉͝͝⛧̵̜̺̞͈͍̐͒̈́̾͜ </b> </em>
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    <b>Y<strong>☠̵</strong>u are n<strong>☠̵</strong>w list<strong>☠̵</strong>ning: Bring Me The Horizon - Ludens</b>
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  <p>ψ̴̣̫̘͔͎͝͝ ̵̛͓͍̬͎̰̫̚̕⛥̴̢̢̿ ̷̛̘̦̪͔̓͐͗͛͐ͅ⛧̴͈̹̅̽̐̒ ̵͈͍̞̤̓̍ͅ.̸̩̎̊̈͑̐͘.̸̛̜͍͇͕̿̒̓͝.̵̣̤͔̔͌̐̆͘ ̶͇̳̑̃̆͘͘ ̸̙͈͔̼̀⛧̶͇̰̣̱̇͗͊̚ ̸̠̏̉͝͝⛧̵̜̺̞͈͍̐͒̈́̾͜</p>
</blockquote><p>Naoise sighed in relief once the last sharp cliff was behind them. In the warm light of twilight, Capital Knot City raised majestically over the vast, swampy flatlands, crisscrossed by rivers and ponds. The end of their journey was, at last, within reach. The end of their tribulation, and the fear.</p><p>He hadn’t stopped glancing behind from time to time, but no dark silhouette disturbed the scenery. Maybe, he thought, Arlen was exaggerating. Maybe he was just wrong, and the Homo Demens had gotten tired, or got scared for some reason.</p><p>In any case, the sooner they reached Capital Knot, the better. He relished the thought of a warm shower, as his shoulders bore most of the load. They were close. So close.</p><p>Arlen stopped on a slope, climbing down from the bike to take a look at the scene. Despite his stoic exterior, Naoise noticed the wrinkle on his brow. He was worried, as he surveyed the path ahead.</p><p>“Bridges,” he called. Naoise frowned at him. It was either ‘kid’, or ‘Bridges’, and he didn’t know which one he liked less. “Any roads?”</p><p>With a sigh, Naoise connected to his bracelet, moving his fingers to adjust the map.</p><p>“There’s a Porter’s pathway with a couple of safe bridges ahead,” he informed Arlen. “Should be easy to traverse on the bike, despite the fact it serpentines a bit around.”</p><p>“Good enough,” Arlen mumbled. “Let’s go-”</p><p>Before any of them could move, thunder roared over their heads. As they glanced up, clouds crawled from all around the sky, covering the warm, golden light and replacing it with darkness. Rain hurried after, and their suits beeped as their hoods propped up.</p><p>An inverted rainbow, lacking the blue stripe, materialized across the infinite blackness.</p><p>“Shit,” Arlen mumbled, as his odradek perked up, and BB called out.</p><p>“What’s going on?” Naoise asked, despite knowing terribly well what was happening.</p><p>But before Arlen could say anything, his odradek started spinning, pointing directly at the ground.</p><p>With only his exclamation of surprise, Arlen was swallowed by the thick, black tar that had materialized under him.</p><p>“Arlen!” Naoise yelled, trying to catch him as his skin crawled and flared up with his Dooms. But a sea of dead, grasping hands took his partner away.</p><p>Arlen struggled, and fought, and cried out. But the hands were neverending, and everytime he grasped at one, other two took its place. Splashes of cloudy sky teared the black appart, as the hands dragged, and pulled, and choked, until Arlen wondered if they would ever let go. If they would let him drown right below the surface.</p><p>The tar stream ceased, and Arlen suddenly found himself in a shallow pool. BB quieted down, as the odradek pointed straight ahead, and the thick, black liquid drained from the floor. Still kneeling, Arlen noticed the heavy steps of a pair of boots, calmly walking across the plains, littered with dead crabs and fishes, wet from the pouring, merciless rain.</p><p>“<em> And the Lord said </em> ,” a sultry, velvety voice called. Sweet as the lyres of heaven, burning as the fires of hell. “ <em> Because the cry of Sodom and Gomorrah is great, and because their sin is very grievous… </em>”</p><p>Arlen’s heart slammed on his throat; a familiar, impending sense of doom taking over. And he lay kneeling in front of a pagan idol, trembling in almost religious fear, under a red glow.</p><p>“<em> I will go down now, and see whether they have done altogether according to the cry of it, </em> ” the voice proceeded, reciting as a preacher on the pulpit of a ruined church, as the steps came closer and closer. “ <em> Which is come unto me. </em>”</p><p>The steps stopped, and the figure bent as if to take Arlen’s hand to help him get up. But instead, a delicate, gloved hand of thin fingers and aristocratic manners, took him by the chin, pulling his face towards the crying skies.</p><p>Morrissey licked his lips, eyes locking with Arlen’s under his black hood. Arlen felt the depths of fear gripping at his soul, bathed by the red glow of Morrissey’s opaque tank.</p><p>“<em> And if not </em> ,” he murmured; a smirk slowly crawling its way across his face. Elongating each word. Savoring each twisted sentence. “ <em> I will know. </em>”</p><p>With a slap on Morrissey’s arm, Arlen freed himself of his grip, falling backwards and crawling away from his dark presence. Morrissey straightened up, hand close to his chest, almost taken aback by his former partner’s actions. But his smirk kept being sharp, and his eyes kept glistening in the dark with twisted humor.</p><p>"Such manners, dear," he said, calmly walking towards Arlen once more. With each step, a piece of the rocky ground raised from the floor; dripping tar as it formed a staircase in front of its twisted puppeteer. "Are you not thrilled for what's to come?"</p><p>"Fuck you, Morrissey," Arlen growled, scrambling to his feet and making a run for it. Morrissey chuckled, raising a hand, beckoning whatever forces answered his call.</p><p>Tar raised once again from the floor, like a river from the underworld, quickly reaching Arlen's knees, and going higher and higher. Arlen grunted as he fought the tide, trying to reach higher ground on a rock nearby, but unable to grasp it - his hands slipping on the slick surface.</p><p>A whirlwind of tar caught him once more, making him lose his footing. The current pulled him back, and upwards; grasping hands caught with him. And he found himself face to face with Morrissey again - the hands of the undead keeping him in place, pulling his arms to his back.</p><p>Morrissey got closer, his nose inches away from Arlen's, making him wince.</p><p>"So human, you," he mumbled, inching closer. "Always struggling to stay alive."</p><p>Arlen grunted, struggling against his bindings, throwing his face backwards.</p><p>"I have a question for you, dear," he uttered, brushing Arlen's cheek with his lips, reaching his ear in a conspiratorial tone. "Why fight so hard for something you don't believe in?"</p><p>With one finger, he caressed Arlen's jaw, going up to his chin.</p><p>"The UCA? Bridges?" He chuckled. "You've never cared about President Strand's blessed America. You keep deluding yourself with some sort of bigger purpose in your endless roaming. You never believed in them… You always believed in us."</p><p>Morrissey leaned back, letting go with a fleeting touch.</p><p>"President Strand is dead," he declared, raising a hand once more. The tar column trembled. "And soon, you will be fulfilled with a higher purpose. Just like the old times."</p><p>"Morrissey…!" Arlen roared, trying to reach him.</p><p>With a wave of Morrissey's hand, the column collapsed onto itself; the figures suddenly becoming animated inside the tar, trying to drown him. Arlen fought, and struggled as he was slowly swallowed by the sea of black, with BB’s cries ringing on his ears, facing Morrissey's indolent smirk above the pedestal he had built for himself, as he saw him fight and lose.</p><p>Soon, the tar was up to his neck. Arlen made one last supreme effort, pulling his arm out, reaching for Morrissey.</p><p>And then, a flash of light, and the roar of reality bending around another being.</p><p>Naoise was holding onto something, throwing it against the sea of tar with a shout. He caught Morrissey's subtly shocked expression as he fell behind his artifact, covering his nose and mouth as it impacted on the floor. Suddenly, a crimson explosion made the beings in the tar cry out and spread, leaving Arlen on firm ground as he coughed.</p><p>Without thinking, the young Porter held onto Arlen's arm. And in another flash of light, they vanished.</p><p>They appeared closer to the gates of Capital Knot, and Naoise wasted no time in pulling Arlen towards them.</p><p>"Come, quick!" he ordered, as Arlen kept coughing, covered in crimson blood. "The guards, they'll-..."</p><p>"No!" Arlen roared, pulling his hand away. "He'll follow. It's what he wants."</p><p>"Arlen-..." Naoise began, until the chilling sound of Beach jumping teared up the sound of the rain.</p><p>He turned, and Morrissey slapped him with the back of his hand. In his face, a grimace of disgust.</p><p>"Dooms," he muttered. "But weaker."</p><p>Naoise looked back in defiance - his Bridges hat crooked on top of his head. Morrissey chuckled.</p><p>"You could be so much more, Bridges," he announced. "But you've decided to be a nuisance."</p><p>Naoise attempted to punch him, but Morrissey caught his arm. He narrowed his eyes.</p><p>"Can't you recognize a god when you see one?" he hissed. "You insolent, little child…"</p><p>Suddenly, Naoise jumped beside him, punching him anyway. The joints of his hand cracked, and he stumbled backwards as he shook his hand. Arlen took a step back, shocked, as Morrissey lightly touched the place where Naoise's hook had landed.</p><p>"You are a terrorist," Naoise stated, breathing ravaged. "And I am not afraid of you."</p><p>Morrissey's eyes snapped back to him - a look of pure hatred.</p><p>"You are so dead, Bridges."</p><p>A flash and a roar, and Morrissey appeared in the middle of the field. Raising up his arms slowly, as if some heavy weight burdened him, tar ran up from the rivers and crevices between the rocks. A piece of floor broke apart, and raised Morrissey up in the skies, where thunder roared.</p><p>“Ah, shoot,” Naoise mumbled, grabbing a cryptobiote from his bag and chewing on it. Arlen shot him a glance.</p><p>“Don’t,” he grunted, stepping towards him. Naoise blinked at him.</p><p>“I can take him,” he assured him. Arlen shook his head.</p><p>“You don’t know him,” he mumbled, looking at the dark, hooded figure looming above the scenery. “I do. Don’t do something stupid, Bridges.”</p><p>“Don’t fucking call me ‘Bridges’, mate,” Naoise grunted, fixing his hat. “I have a name. And I just saved your ass.”</p><p>He prepared to jump, but Arlen reached to grab his wrist. The contact made him turn, electrical ripples making his skin tingle with warmth. He was as shocked as Arlen seemed - lips parted, as he examined Naoise’s face.</p><p>A second after, Arlen let him go as if the contact burned. Once again, Naoise blinked at him.</p><p>“He wants me dead,” Arlen assured him, looking at the sea of tar building up in front of Capital Knot. “Port me away. He’ll follow. He’ll leave you be.”</p><p>“Arlen,” Naoise articulated. “I have Dooms. I’ll be fine. Besides - you should take care of your baby.”</p><p>Arlen looked down, barely hearing BB’s gasps and wines. An intermittent, red glow came from its tank, as the odradek turned limp on Arlen’s shoulder.</p><p>“Autotoxemia,” Arlen mumbled. Something moved inside of him, as the BB struggled to open its eyes to glance at him through the glass.</p><p>“I’ll be back in a bit,” Naoise announced, jumping out of view.</p><p>He appeared above the dark figure, trying to take him by surprise, but with a flash, he was also gone. Naoise had a second of surprise before the roar of a Beach jump came from behind, and he managed to turn to feel Morrissey’s hand like a claw on his neck. His black cape flapped behind as they fell, and his sharp smirk widened as they came closer and closer to the ground.</p><p>Naoise glanced behind, noticing the grasping hands in a sea of tar, reaching out to him. And he jumped away, landing on the land chunk Morrissey had teared off the ground with a thud.</p><p>He rolled away, scrambling to his feet and ready to fight, but Morrissey was nowhere to be seen. And then, the rock began to disintegrate under him, as he walked backwards and tried to stay afloat.</p><p>Another piece of land raised in front of him, as Morrissey softly landed on top of it - hands stretched, crumbling away the rock. Naoise kept his balance, glancing down at the tar, and realizing if he was to touch the ground he might be as good as dead. So he took a running start and jumped, grabbing the edge of the rock Morrissey stood on, sliding in the tar as he fought to keep his grip.</p><p>“You’re a mad man,” he grunted, as Morrissey watched him struggle. He tilted his head to the side. “People live in this city! Have you no mercy?”</p><p>Morrissey smirked.</p><p>“Show me ten righteous men, Bridges,” he said, stretching his hand out. “<em> I will not destroy it for ten’s sake. </em>”</p><p>The edge that Naoise tried to climb crumbled around him, and he fell once again towards the tar.</p><p>As he floated in the air, falling faster and faster each second, he thought of the lonely bunkers in lonely flatlands, flailed by rain, scarred by voidouts. The grasping hands reached out to him, as the arms of a mother opened up to cradle a lost son. Naoise thought he could, probably, gather ten, twenty, thousands of righteous people. Men and women, children and elders. He had known as many. He kept their letters over his heart.</p><p>But it wouldn’t matter to the likes of his enemy. It was a fruitless task - something one just says with a chuckle. A fool’s errand, to blow humanity to kingdom come, and still find ways to lament a twisted fate of his own creation.</p><p>Naoise clenched his teeth, holding onto another explosive and activating it, refusing the call of the dead yet. And when he felt the fingers of the dead on his shoulders, he jumped once again.</p><p>Reaching terminal velocity, his fist - still clenched around the grenade, impacted once again against Morrissey’s jaw. A crimson explosion coated them, as the rock crumbled, and they fell in separate ways.</p><p>Ears buzzing with the sound, Naoise fell onto solid ground, dizzy and disoriented. He realized the tar retreated in a circle around him, as he was coated in blood - just as Arlen before him.</p><p>He stood in the middle of the parted sea, in time to see Morrissey stand up as well. They glared at each other through the tar, both standing in the middle of their own patches of dry land.</p><p>“I grow tired of the games of children,” Morrissey suddenly declared, clearing a drop of blood off his lip. “<em> For </em> I <em> will destroy this place, because the cry of them is waxen great before the face of the Lord; and the Lord hath sent </em> me <em> to destroy it. </em>”</p><p>Naoise prepared to jump once again, despite feeling the lack of blood starting to affect him. Morrissey raised both of his hands, and after a brief delay, the sea of tar began to bubble and raise at Naoise’s sides - two twin waves, ready to consume it all.</p><p>Then, a sharp cry echoed through the field.</p><p>Naoise opened his eyes wide, as he met Morrissey’s eyes across the field once more. The cries came from him - from his pod, glowing bright red, illuminating him from within.</p><p>He blinked, then lowered his hands as he looked down. Naoise breathed in deep, exhaling in a trembling sigh of relief as the tar bubbled, the waves softly collapsing, before settling down.</p><p>“I’m required elsewhere,” Morrissey stated, with a flair of his hand. “But you - you are not forgiven.”</p><p>He pointed at Naoise, before extending his hands at his sides. Suddenly, black cables fell from his arms - connecting him to the tar.</p><p>“We’ll see each other again, ” he said, pulling the cables towards him. “On the Beach!”</p><p>A figure moved under the tar, and Naoise felt his allergies flaring up again - tears streaming down his face. The liquid stumbled and moved like a sea under a storm, and a confusion of tentacles and hands broke the surface in front of Naoise.</p><p>He jumped away, appearing beside Arlen, and falling to his knees. Arlen stopped calming BB down, making a gesture to help him up, but unable to touch him.</p><p>“What the hell is that?” Arlen mumbled - hearing, but unable to see the thing that was coming for them. Naoise shook his head, chewing on another cryptobiote.</p><p>“Here - have this,” he mumbled, putting a grenade on Arlen’s hand. “It’s an hematic grenade.”</p><p>“Hematic?” Arlen repeated.</p><p>“Yeah. It’s fuelled by blood.” Naoise inhaled deeply, standing up straight. “My blood.”</p><p>He could feel Arlen’s eyes on him, so he cleared some blood off his face before replying. Images of his parents flashed over his eyes. He had to be brave. He wouldn't let them take anyone else. He wouldn't let them take him.</p><p>“BTs don’t like Repatriate blood,” he explained. “It’s… a thing they asked me to try out if I had the chance. Now seemed like such a chance.”</p><p>Arlen examined the grenade, then looking at Naoise.</p><p>“I can’t…” he mumbled, eyes scanning their surroundings. “I don’t have Dooms. I can’t see them. And BB’s…”</p><p>“Come with me,” Naoise suggested, holding out his hand. “When I shoot, you shoot.”</p><p>Arlen looked down at Naoise’s hand, then raised his eyes towards his face. Without touching him, he nodded.</p><p>With one last caress at BBs tank, they took off into the tar, steering the creature away from the gates of the city. Arlen heard its roaring, and could see a mountain of tar fast approaching, but nothing more.</p><p>"We gotta get higher," he said. Naoise nodded, teeth clenched, eyes on a nearby rock formation.</p><p>The slick rock was hard to climb, but they managed to crawl up. The tar mountain took a sharp turn towards them, quickly approaching like a bloodthirsty shark.</p><p>Arlen held onto the grenade, pointing at the tar. Naoise raised his arm in front of him.</p><p>"Wait," he suggested. "Each grenade has five charges. The one I have has three more. We won't have many chances."</p><p>Arlen shot him a side glance that made Naoise nervous.</p><p>"Just wait on my mark," he said. "I'll tell you when it's close enough."</p><p>The being was on top of them - impacting against the rock with a thud that reberverated over its surface. Naoise frowned, as the piece of mountain trembled under their feet.</p><p>"It almost feels like we're sinking," he mumbled, cold sweat running down his spine.</p><p>"We are sinking," Arlen grumbled, stepping back when the tar licked the edge of the rock.</p><p>And then, the being broke the surface.</p><p>Arlen covered his ears, crying out at its roars tore through the air, but Naoise found himself paralized by fear. The tentacles and the arms were bad enough, without the powerful tail of an aquatic mammal, black and slick, powerful as it propelled it up the rock towards them. Crab claws also sprouted from where its head should be, holding onto the rock and climbing up, or rather, accelerating its sinking.</p><p>It was pure death. A relic from what was beyond. A mirage of the infinite phases of the Beach.</p><p>"Kid!" Arlen called, ears still covered. It was enough to make him snap out of it.</p><p>"Shoot!" Naoise ordered, preparing and releasing his grenade.</p><p>The crimson explosion made the being cry out, and Arlen's launch soon followed. Its tentacles wriggled and recoiled in pain, as Its massive shape turned away, leaving the rock to sink.</p><p>"Let's go!" Naoise said, running towards the face of the mountain with Arlen at his heels.</p><p>The creature shook it off before going for them again, another roar making them shudder as they climbed up. Once again, it tried to collide with their rock, to make it sink.</p><p>Without thinking, Arlen threw another grenade towards the tar, impacting on the thing's head and making it cry out again. Naoise gave him a side glance, before readying himself up.</p><p>"How did you-?" </p><p>"The ripples on the tar," Arlen mumbled.</p><p>Naoise nodded, deciding to ponder on it at a later time as he threw his own grenade, making the monster wriggle and scream as it came for them.</p><p>"I have one more left," Naoise announced, agitated. "You have two."</p><p>"You heard bout overcooking a grenade?" Arlen mumbled. Naoise shot him a look, shaking his head. "Aight, then. Now you wait for me."</p><p>He stood in front, roaring at the beast and beckoning it, eyes scanning the tar for movement. Naoise saw the being resume Its pursuit with renewed persistence, roaring and heading straight for Arlen.</p><p>"When I tell you, activate your grenade," Arlen ordered, breathing agitated. "Wait two seconds. Then throw."</p><p>"I'm not sure about this," Naoise stated, as the whale or whatever the hell it was raised over the tar. Arlen huffed.</p><p>"Too late."</p><p>The being flung itself towards the rock, tentacles extended towards Arlen. The hands held onto his arms and legs, pulling him towards the middle of the mess of limbs. Naoise hesitated as Arlen struggled, but a determined glance thrown his way made him wait.</p><p>Arlen could smell the endless centuries of death and decay on the being's maw. As he understood that, if his plan was to fall, all around him would disappear. Capital Knot - the UCA, would be no more. Humanity would have failed.</p><p>"Now!" he roared, and Naoise did as commanded.</p><p>The spray of blood rained over Arlen, and the tentacles opened up like a flower as the being roared. Arlen didn't need another cue to throw both of his charges at the being, right as the tentacles closed up again.</p><p>Two seconds. Three. And the being bubbled inside as it recoiled in pain.</p><p>The crimson explosion evaporated in a red mist, as the cries of the being became echoes in Arlen and Naoise's minds. The clouds parted and the sea of tar retreated, revealing the clean rivers and paths underneath a layer of dead crabs and fish. Arlen lay down on the rock with a heavy sigh of relief, trying to catch his breath, as Naoise limped closer, holding onto his hand.</p><p>The only thing left of the tar monster was an enormous, golden, grasping chiralium hand clawing at the sky. He dropped on his knees, as allergic tears ran down his cheeks.</p><p>His parents. They would've been so proud of him. The thought made him smile.</p><p>"That was good, innit?" he murmured.</p><p>"Yeah," Arlen replied, still laying down with his eyes closed - allergic tears streaming down as well. "It was."</p><p>"We should get our cargo back…" Naoise then said. "And we gotta take care of your BB. And-"</p><p>He reached for a cryptobiote on his bag, only to come out empty-handed. He sighed, looking at the beautiful sunset, feeling the cool, saline breeze on his face.</p><p>"Arlen?" he called.</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"I'm gonna faint again." </p><p>Arlen sat up, only to see Naoise dropping like dead weight beside him. After a brief moment of hesitation, where he looked down at his hurt BB, he got up, taking Naoise on his arms and, finally, entering the gates of Capital Knot City.</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. 016</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In time for spooky season. Not really a horror story but rather a strangely romantic one, in a way. Still, hope you like it if you read until here.</p><p>More to follow, probably. A lot of mysteries left hanging, and that was kind of the idea. Hope that I get a computer with a functioning d key for it tho lol</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
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    <b>Delivery log 016</b>
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  <p><b>Subject:</b> The Capital Knot Incident</p>
  <p><b>Porters:</b> Naoise Porter - Bridges | Arlen - Independent Contractor</p>
  <p><b>Cargo status:</b> 100% package damage, 30% cargo damage. Order delivered.<b></b></p>
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    <em> <strong>Rank: A</strong> </em>
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  <p><strong>You are now listening: </strong>Low Roar - I'm Leaving</p>
</blockquote><p>Deadman didn’t look away from the projection from his bracelet for a long time. Naoise sniffled, the stank of chiralium doing very little to mask the scent of blood all over his Bridges’ uniform. He could feel the tar seeping into his skin, and he wasn’t a fan of it at all. He also wondered if the blood would come off his overalls at all.</p><p>A train of thought that had more in common with a trainwreck. The works when he was absolutely terrified of what was to come.</p><p>He noticed when the man reached the part about the Homo Demens, because his eyes widened and, finally, he glanced his way across the projection. Deadman’s eyes were kind, but a little too inquisitive for Naoise’s liking.</p><p>He felt too small, too uncomfortable in his clothes, sitting on the bed of his private room like a kid caught in a lie, waiting to be lectured. And the soreness of the fight wouldn’t go away - bruises marking his skin, paled through the sustained anemia. He didn’t like looking in the mirror when he was like this. The purple seemed bright and gangrenous in the middle of his pale, parchment-like skin. Like a skull, drying in the sun. Not to mention, he was, still, all-too aware of how dirty he was.</p><p>Finally, Deadman’s eyes snapped back at him, and the projection ended. He took a deep breath.</p><p>“Very well, Naoise,” he said. “The recordings of your bracelet coincide with your reports.”</p><p>Naoise also realized that Deadman was a rather nervous individual. Always pacing, always playing with his hands. He could relate to that. Maybe a little too much, given his current situation.</p><p>“It is very interesting, your report about the hematic grenades,” he commented. “It is lucky that Repatriate blood could be used for such weaponry. It takes a weight off our collective shoulders. Aside from that, it takes courage to face a BT, and you did it with grace and valor. I-... the whole city thanks you for that.”</p><p>Naoise nodded, but something bugged him. Before he could talk, however, Deadman proceeded.</p><p>“The cargo arrived, of course, safely. A little bit of damage was to be expected, after what happened, but it’s minimal.” A pause, as Deadman paced once more. “Nick Easton sends his regards, but I’m sure he will give them to you in due time.”</p><p>“Sir,” Naoise interjected, evading Deadman’s eyes when he looked straight at him. “With all due respect, porter Arlen was instrumental to this delivery.”</p><p>“Ah, yes,” Deadman stated - in his forehead, a wrinkle of worry. “Arlen.”</p><p>The way he said his companion’s name didn’t sit well with Naoise.</p><p>“He isn’t registered as a Bridges’ operative, but he does have quite a number of assets that are exclusive to us,” Deadman explained. “Including a bracelet, and…”</p><p>He trailed off, glancing over his shoulder. Naoise closed his eyes for a brief second, before following Deadman’s eyes towards a corner of the room. BB slept peacefully, sucking on their thumb, completely unaware of what might come for them and his human.</p><p>“A stolen Bridge Baby is a grave offense,” Deadman explained. “We track every unit with great care to avoid something like this from happening. A crime of this magnitude, and flying under our radar for so long…”</p><p>“Sir, I-I can explain,” Naoise suddenly interrupted. “The steal wasn’t Arlen’s doing. If you check my records on the cave north of Port Knot, you’ll see that-”</p><p>“Naoise, Naoise,” Deadman called, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Even if Arlen had stolen the Bridge Baby, there isn’t enough evidence for prosecuting. All evidence that might have condemned or absolved him was lost. Lost to the annihilation of Middle Knot. Which brings me to…”</p><p>Once again, Deadman glanced at his bracelet. A recording played - the sound of the rain and the distance distorting the sound, but he could clearly hear Arlen’s voice. Arlen’s, and someone else’s.</p><p><em> "President Strand is dead," </em> Naoise heard the Homo Demens say. Chills went down his spine. <em> "And soon, you will be fulfilled with a higher purpose. Just like the old times." </em></p><p>
  <em> "Morrissey…!" </em>
</p><p>The recording cut itself, as Deadman gravely turned to see Naoise.</p><p>“President Strand is dead?” he echoed, breathless. Deadman sighed, looking down with a sad smile.</p><p>“As you might imagine, this recording brings up many concerns for us,” he explained. “This information is fully confidential. And you - and your friend, seem to have been dragged into it.”</p><p>“B-but,” Naoise interjected, confused and distressed. “What’s left for us all, then? What’s left of the UCA - of Bridges, without President Strand?”</p><p>Deadman took a deep breath, attempting to talk, but stopping himself at the last second. So he sighed, composing an apologetic smile.</p><p>“You do not need to worry, Naoise,” he assured him. “The government, and the UCA, are in the best, more capable hands they could be. America will survive.”</p><p>As Naoise settled down, shaking his head in disbelief, Deadman threw a chiral projector on the floor, from where it raised a hooded figure. Naoise recognized the face under the hood, and its bright, malevolent eyes.</p><p>“We know very little about Morrissey - the Homo Demens that attacked you,” Deadman explained. “What little I could find has been redacted and corrupted beyond my abilities. He seems to have been a Bridges operative, a long time ago. A vindictive ex employee, one could argue.”</p><p>Suddenly, another figure appeared behind Morrissey. Taller, stronger, more menacing-looking. Naoise gasped when the image revealed its face - a golden mask of death. It put its hands on Morrissey’s shoulders, as they both froze in front of Naoise’s eyes.</p><p>“But we are learning about his allegiances, thanks to Bridges II,” Deadman proceeded, eyes also fixed on the man in the golden mask’s visage - a strange mixture of reverent fear and ardent curiosity. “The terrorists are getting bolder, and there is no way of knowing how much they already know about us.”</p><p>Morrissey’s eyes seemed to look for Naoise’s, as his smirk widened, before both figures vanished.</p><p>“The tampering on the files of our newest friend might give us a clue about what they are doing, and how,” Deadman explained, retrieving the projector. “But there’s little we can do without interrogating one of our terrorist foes. And in that line, I want to talk about Arlen’s BB.”</p><p>Once again, Naoise inhaled sharply.</p><p>“Your records say this BB was taken from Middle Knot, correct?” Deadman inquired. Naoise shifted on his seat.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“That would make it, at least, two years old,” Deadman stated. Naoise nodded. “Just as I presumed.”</p><p>After a pause, Naoise blinked.</p><p>“What’s on your mind?” he asked, before quickly adding. “Sir.”</p><p>“Bridge Babies are equipment - they’re disposable,” Deadman elaborated. “Most don’t make it past their first year of service. There are exceptions, but they are… <em> extremely </em> rare.”</p><p>Naoise glanced at the BB with renewed interest, as they turned inside their tank.</p><p>“I’ve been investigating these exceptional BBs for some time now,” Deadman admitted. “And I’ve taken a personal interest in the matter. Your BB’s data seems to have been expunged - there is no saying about who its stillmother is. We should have it in our records -as I said, we keep close tabs on our Bridge Babies-, but as with the Homo Demens Morrissey, the data is corrupted and distorted. It’s quite a mystery!”</p><p>“So… correct me if I’m wrong, sir,” Naoise said. “But you are saying that, if we find more data about this BB…”</p><p>“We might find out more about the Homo Demens Morrissey,” Deadman nodded. “Which would be extremely useful - both for clearing your friend Arlen’s name, and for Bridges’ plans for the future of the UCA.”</p><p>Naoise nodded, trying to interiorize all the information. The lone fact that President Strand was dead was a strong enough blow for him. But all that talk about terrorists and the future of the UCA was, to say the least, scary. So much responsibility. So much weight on his shoulders.</p><p>“I want to help,” Naoise said. “But I want you to do something for me in exchange.”</p><p>Deadman tilted his head to the side, curious as Naoise gathered his thoughts. He needed inspiration . A shot of courage, to keep going.</p><p>“Would you search for more information regarding my parents?”</p><p>Deadman’s smile faded, as his glance turned to one of pity, and slight guilt.</p><p>“Dear boy,” he explained slowly. “We have detailed records on Bridges’ employees, but in the case of Preparationists, our knowledge is only as vast as what they have decided to share with us. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Naoise lowered his eyes, and nodded. There wasn’t even a point in trying to explain that his parents weren’t preppers stockpiling on guns as the world crashed down on them. He didn’t know, anyway. He only knew what the people in Central Knot had told him, and even they were gone now.</p><p>After a brief hesitation, Deadman advanced, putting a hand on Naoise’s shoulder.</p><p>“I can’t make any promises,” he said, “but I’ll do my best. After what you’ve done for us, it’s the least I can do.”</p><p>Naoise sighed.</p><p>“Thank you,” he mumbled. “But please, remind everyone that I wasn’t alone. Arlen-...”</p><p>Suddenly, he perked up, agitated.</p><p>“Wait,” he said. “Arlen isn’t under custody?”</p><p>Deadman blinked at him.</p><p>“No, he isn’t,” he clarified. “As I said before, there is not enough evidence to accuse him of anything - much less convict him.”</p><p>Naoise jumped out of the bed, grabbing BB’s pod and running past Deadman towards the elevator door. Before he left, however, he turned towards the man with guilty eyes.</p><p>“Can I be dismissed?” he mumbled. Deadman chuckled.</p><p>“It’s okay by me,” he assured him. “But you might want to be ready to answer your intercom. Someone wants to talk to you.”</p><p>“Alright,” Naoise said, nodding. “Thank you! sir!”</p><p>“Goodbye, Naoise,” Deadman said, as his chiral hologram dissolved in the air.</p><p>The elevator took too long to get up to the ground floor, but Naoise compensated by running up with all his bruised legs could give. He was tired, oh so tired, but there were things more important in life than a full night’s sleep. He had to reach him. He had to make it in time. The thought of leaving the man who had saved him lost in the wilderness was heartbreaking. He couldn’t. He had to find a way to thank him. There had to be a way.</p><p>He ran past Arlen on the way to the gates of the city, stopping dead on his tracks before turning around, BB still on hand.</p><p>Arlen tilted his head to the side, calmly smoking just outside the reception building. A sudden smile broke like sunrise in Naoise’s face, blonde ponytail flailing in the night breeze.</p><p>“Arlen!” he called, running towards him, arms open. Arlen took a step backwards, as Naoise stopped, conscious about Arlen’s touch aversion. “You’re still here!”</p><p>“Yes,” he mumbled - smoke filling the air as he talked. Naoise laughed.</p><p>“I thought you- I- Why are you here?” he asked, still overjoyed.</p><p>“I needed my BB back,” he explained, gesturing at the pod. Naoise’s smile wavered. “That, and you weren’t waking up.”</p><p>Naoise sighed, holding the BB between his arms with a soft smile on his face.</p><p>“Well,” he said. “I am awake.”</p><p>They glanced at each other briefly. And then, Naoise’s intercom went off in a strange chime, one he had never heard before.</p><p>“What- who…” Naoise mumbled, activating it. And he almost dropped BB’s pod when a known face appeared in front of him - a black mask resembling a skull, over a stoic man’s face.</p><p>“Naoise Porter,” Die-Hardman greeted, and Naoise felt a buzz in his ears, as if he was about to faint. “Your deeds have reached even the most distant corners of the UCA. Allow me to personally thank you for your service. It’s actions like yours that keep hope alive. That keep the UCA alive.”</p><p>“Oh my,” Naoise, mumbled, as Arlen peeked over his shoulder. “Thank you, sir. It’s an honor, sir.”</p><p>“Ah, I see you’re accompanied,” Die-Hardman noted. “Good. Then, we can discuss our future plans immediately.”</p><p>Arlen frowned, cigarette still on his mouth.</p><p>“I aint no Bridges’ puppet,” he grunted. Naoise shot him a shocked glance, but Arlen was too busy glaring at the image of one of the most powerful men in the world.</p><p>“Noted,” Die-Hardman replied, stoic. “But it’s in our best interest to put a stop to terrorist activity around the UCA. A feeling, I’m sure, you can sympathize with.”</p><p>Arlen crossed his arms, silent.</p><p>“The Homo Demens known as Morrissey is a B-class target,” Die-Hardman explained. “He’s too dangerous to be kept running around freely on UCA territory. Our resources are focused in the Chiral Network - we can’t send a squad to apprehend him, as I’m sure both of you know. But he seems to have a special interest in you, Arlen. An interest we can benefit from.”</p><p>“Excuse me, sir,” Naoise interrupted. “Are you suggesting using him as bait?”</p><p>“That is an extremely undiplomatic way of saying it,” Die-Hardman lamented, “but yes. Most terrorists are careful and quiet about their approaches. Most are never caught dead dropping hints about their history, or their identity. Our friend, Morrissey, seems to have no such qualms when it’s about you, Arlen. He wants you to <em> know </em> it’s him.”</p><p>To Naoise’s surprise, Arlen tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes. Was he considering it?</p><p>“You won’t be enrolled in Bridges,” Die-Hardman stated. “But you’ll be permitted to use our installations and our Chiral Network where it’s available. All we ask of you if this: stop Morrissey. Cut the terrorists from stealing our sensitive intel. Protect what President Strand fought so hard to build.”</p><p>Arlen exhaled through his nose, still stoic.</p><p>“Ah, yes,” Die-Hardman added. “You can take your unclassified BB with you, if you so choose. Consider it a parting gift of good faith.”</p><p>“Fine,” Arlen grumbled after a pause.</p><p>“Excellent,” Die-Hardman celebrated. “You shall close the contract with Naoise on my behalf. Have a safe trip, and keep on keeping on. And - please, no smoking is allowed inside Bridges’ premises.”</p><p>With that, the intercom shut down, leaving Naoise and Arlen alone once more.</p><p>Upon noticing Naoise’s glance, Arlen shook his head.</p><p>“No, kid,” he grumbled. “It’s suicidal.”</p><p>“Arlen,” Naoise replied, stepping up. “I went toe to toe with him. I have Dooms. You need me.”</p><p>“No fucking way,” he grunted, crossing his arms once more and giving his back at him. “I ain't gonna be responsible for more deaths.”</p><p>“I spoke on your behalf down there!” Naoise argued. “I am invested in seeing this through. Besides, he slapped me. It’s personal.”</p><p>Arlen looked back at him, examining his face one last time. Firm, decided, ready.</p><p>“If you come with me,” Arlen explained, slowly. “He’ll come for you, too.”</p><p>“That’s a good thing,” Naoise replied, narrowing his eyes. “Because I’ll go meet him.”</p><p>With one last huff, Arlen discarded his cigarette, stepping on it until the fire was extinguished. He looked down at his boots - recently cleaned up, and took a deep breath.</p><p>“It won’t take long,” he warned. “He’ll lick his wounds, and he’ll be back for me.”</p><p>“This time,” Naoise said, “you won’t be alone.”</p><p>Arlen looked at him, as if he was remembering something funny. Then, to Naoise’s surprise, he chuckled. Not disdainful, nor angry. But a genuine, happy chuckle.</p><p>“Big words, kid,” he stated. “Ready up to be on our way.”</p><p>“Can it wait until I have a shower?” Naoise asked, as they made their way downstairs. Arlen huffed; a smirk still curving his lips upwards.</p><p>“Sure.”</p>
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